Leap That Makes the Fall
by MissAnnThropic
Summary: With no explanation for how or why, Dean and Sam find themselves with a fallen angel on their hands.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Leap That Makes the Fall

Author: MissAnnThropic

Spoilers: up through The French Mistake

LiveJournal: miss_annthropic dot livejournal dot com

Pairing: Dean/Castiel

Summary: With no explanation for how or why, Dean and Sam find themselves with a fallen angel on their hands.

Disclaimer: None of it's mine. I'm just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching DVDs of her favorite shows :(

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><p>"I gotta say, boys," Bobby Singer's voice sounded from Sam's cell phone, on speaker so both Winchesters could participate. "As far as worrying situations go, well, this has got to be the best one yet."<p>

Dean and Sam looked at each other across the small motel table. Bobby was right, of course, but that didn't ease the taut, anxious expression on either of their faces.

"Bobby," Sam piped in, leaning forward on his forearms laid on the table to be closer to the phone resting flat in the center, "there hasn't been a hint of anything supernatural in _weeks_."

"And if we were just talking about one city or even one state that would be weird enough, but nothing in the entire freaking U.S.?"

"And more than that," Bobby noted. "I've been putting in some calls to some of my international contacts, and there's nothing going on _anywhere_. One minute it's shit – in every human language imaginable – hitting the fan, the next it's dead quiet pole to pole."

The absence of bad things happening would make any normal person rejoice, but the Winchesters were once bitten, twice shy. Both boys were twitchy and snappish… the waiting for something to inevitably happen was getting to them.

"We've been wandering around aimlessly for weeks with nothing to do," Dean bitched.

"We're just… it has to be the calm before the storm, right?" Sam chimed in, forestalling another one of Dean's gripe-sessions. "I mean, our whole lives there's always been _something_ that needed hunting. And now, all of a sudden, _nothing_? There must be something coming… something big."

"Well, if there is, there're no signs or omens of it coming," Bobby added. He paused before asking, "Have you tried checking in with the angels?"

Dean went stiff and scowled mightily. Sam winced inwardly. Dean had been particularly touchy about that topic of late. So touchy, in fact, that Sam had been going out of his way to avoid it.

"I've called for Cas at least a dozen times," Dean said.

Twice that, in truth, but Sam wasn't going to say so.

"Bastard hasn't answered a single one of them." With a sneer and a snort, Dean quipped, "Not that that's unusual for him lately."

"Hmmm," Bobby mused, taking it in and no doubt culling Dean's sarcastic snipe. "You try any of the other angels besides Castiel?"

The brothers exchanged another loaded glance. "We, uh… we tried Balthazar," Sam confessed, "only because he's been 'summonable' in the past, but that didn't work, either." Sam pursed his lips. "But it was a long-shot trying to reach him, anyway. Balthazar's not exactly what you would call reliable or trust-worthy."

"What, and Cas is?" Dean groused under his breath.

Sam threw his brother a supremely bitchy look, but Bobby's voice cut in before Sam could say anything. "You consider the possibility it's not just the bad guys that have up and vanished? That maybe it's the good guys, too – though I used the term 'good guys' loosely?"

That made Sam and Dean look up at one another. The 'I hadn't considered that' flew between them.

"Whoa, wait, you mean the angels are gone?" Dean asked, suddenly sounding a tad concerned.

"I don't know… but could be."

Dean was bristling. It was almost audible, because the silence that fell over the three hunters was so thick.

"Ever since angels popped up on the radar few years ago, I've tried to keep tabs on angelic activity on top of demonic activity as best I can," Bobby continued, "and this lull ain't just with the demons. There haven't been any signs of angels at work or play in just as long as the nasties have been MIA."

"That's… suspicious," Sam mused.

"Surely can't be coincidence," Dean grumbled.

Then another clueless pause took hold.

"Listen, boys," Bobby finally said, "I wish I had something for you, but truth is I'm just as baffled as you by this. I'll keep an eye and ear out for anything that even resembles a hunt, but honestly, right now, I've got squat. Hell, I've been doing some housework around here that's been needing doing for years because all of a sudden I have all this time on my hands."

That was something the Winchesters could relate to. For more than a week, the complete absence of hunts to be had was starting to drive them batshit. They were like ballistic missiles that suddenly lost their tracking data. They were weapons with nothing to point at, and the purposeless meandering across the United States was getting on their nerves.

Dean's moreso than Sam's, but Sam was trying to be tactful about how he dealt with that.

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean muttered, and Sam swiped out a hand to fetch the phone and end the call.

Dean was on his feet and pacing by the time Sam looked back up. "This feels all wrong, Sam."

"I agree, man, but what can we do?" Sam held up his hands helplessly. "If there was a lead, something we could follow and track down to figure this out, I'd be all for hitting the road right now. But there's nothing."

Dean rubbed at his face with his hands, tensed, then turned back to Sam. "You think Bobby's right… I mean, about the angels being gone?"

That was really what Dean was worried about, now that Bobby had suggested it. Sam didn't need to be a genius to figure that one out. Even if Dean and Castiel had been at each other's throats more often than not this past year, there was still something tragically tangled about the hunter and angel's 'relationship'. Sam figured he'd need a doctorate in psychology to even get close to sorting it out. Most of the time, it was just better to not even try.

"I don't know… you'd think something that could take out the angels would be wreaking some noticeable havoc here on Earth." Sam hesitated a moment. "The last time you talked to Cas, did you get the sense there was anything different?"

Dean scoffed. "Dude, things have been different with Cas ever since Stull Cemetery."

It was a sore spot Sam knew he had to poke with great care, because not much set Dean off of late like bringing up Castiel's change in personality since the Apocalypse was averted. Sam could appreciate Cas was doing what he had to do, being a soldier in a war in Heaven and all, but Dean had never been quite so forgiving of Castiel's circumstances. Once Sam had his soul back, he felt like the tension between Dean and Castiel had a very personal flavor to it… like Dean was hurt and angry more than he was just angry.

"I know, but I mean… did you get the feeling he was trying to tell you anything?"

Dean pinned Sam with a shrewd 'what exactly are you getting at?' look.

"Look, Dean… I know you two haven't seen exactly eye to eye lately…"

Dean snorted.

"But I think if something heavy was going down, something that could wipe out the angels, Castiel would find a way to tell you. Even if it was against every law in Heaven, he'd figure out how to let you know."

It almost looked like Dean blushed a little, but it was buried in a screwed face in the next moment. "No, he was just being his new and improved dick-angel self. No hidden message of impending doom."

Which left them right back where they started… two hunters with absolutely nothing to hunt.

Sam used to dream about a world with nothing to hunt. Now that he had it, he found he had no idea what to do with it. But even as lost as he was, Dean was even more lost. Sam had at least aspired to escape to a life away from the hunt, but Dean had to be dragged away from it kicking and screaming. Sam was tense waiting for the next shoe to drop, but Dean was about ready to crawl right out of his skin.

Dean paced around the room a while longer, then grabbed the car keys and headed out. Sam knew what he'd do. Dean would find a bar, maybe hustle some pool, pick up a girl if he could manage, then come slinking back into their motel room in the early morning hours. And the two of them would pack up and head out in the morning with no destination in mind beyond the open road.

It's what the Winchesters knew, and until they had some direction, they would go with the inertia of their lifestyle.

Eventually, something would land in their lap.

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><p>Sam had never expected that 'something' to land quite so literally.<p>

He and Dean were in a small town in Vermont. It was raining cats and dogs… figuratively. If it was _literally_raining cats and dogs, that would have been a job for the Winchesters. Instead it was just sheets and sheets of freezing rain washing out the world beyond the Impala's headlights.

They were headed back to their motel from the local bar. Lately, Dean drank like the booze had offended him. Sam started flinching as Dean slammed down shot glasses and bottles with an accompanying flash of teeth. It reminded Sam of a temperamental chimp he saw on the Discovery Channel once… if chimps had drinking problems.

Their phone call to Bobby had been four days ago, and there was no more hint of supernatural activity now than there had been then. The world was at peace… but for how long? How fragile and imaginary would that peace prove to be? And would Dean still be fit to face it when it finally broke? Because at the rate he was going, he'd come completely unglued for want of something to kill.

Sam sat sullenly in the passenger seat and just tried to avoid the bear that was his older brother. He hated that Dean was driving after the bar, but Sam had some sense of self-preservation and he wasn't up to wrestling the keys from Dean's hands. He just counted themselves lucky the motel was only a couple of blocks from the bar and that Dean had such a protective instinct toward his beloved car.

The Impala swung into the parking lot of the motel. The place looked deserted. Most of the lights were off in the rooms, and the lot was pretty thin on cars. It wasn't a very popular place to stop, apparently, and it was that hour of night on a weekday when all people with any common sense or decency were asleep. Sam might say it looked like part of a ghost town, but that would be too good to be true. Instead, it was just a dank, dreary, miserable little motel in the asscrack of nowhere that the Winchesters were calling home for now.

When Dean turned the car toward their room, the car's beams slid over the asphalt, the nearest drops of rain in sparkles and the distant rain in a pale haze, and a flash of something light and vague in the darkness.

Sam squinted and realized he was seeing a human being, naked and sitting on the ground in the pithy shelter of the side of the neighboring building. A twinge of sympathy tugged at him, trying to imagine being stuck out on a night like tonight. The Winchesters liked to bitch about how bad they had it, but there were some who had it a whole lot worse.

"Ah, look," Sam crooned sadly as he pointed abstractly at the figure, "naked homeless guy."

In the next instant, Dean was slamming on the brakes. Sam threw out a hand to brace himself against the dash as the car, even at the slow speed she'd been moving, hydroplaned briefly from the force of Dean's brake. Before Sam could ask Dean what the hell he was doing, Dean put the car in park, threw open the door, and bolted out of the car into the icy rain.

Sam watched Dean hurry toward the homeless guy a moment before he climbed over the seat and followed Dean out into the storm. He was wondering if his brother had finally snapped, because Dean wasn't the type to throw himself into helping out a drifter found on the side of the road. He tried to save people, sure, but in Dirty Harry style, not Mother Teresa's.

By the time Sam caught up to where his brother was kneeling in front of the bum, Sam was soaked through. His breath was coming out in white puffs in the cold night air. He blinked rain out of his eyes as he came up alongside the pair, still without a clue what Dean was doing.

Dean was crouched in front of the man. The transient was pale and shaking, legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, and head pillowed on his kneecaps. It was sad, sure, but why –

"Cas!" Dean said urgently.

Sam's eyes went wide. _No way_. It couldn't be.

Dean's hands were on the man's bare shoulders, then in his black hair, trying to rouse the folded figure. "Cas! Come on, man, snap out of it. It's Dean."

At that, the man feebly lifted his face and looked up and…

"Holy shit!" Sam yelped. Dean was right. It _was_Cas. A completely drenched, shivering, frail-looking, naked Castiel, but Castiel nonetheless. Sam gaped. He'd been wanting something unusual to happen, but this wasn't quite what he had in mind.

The rain beating on the ground was loud, so Castiel's words were almost entirely drowned out when he fixed his bleary eyes on Dean and croaked, "Dean?"

"Yeah, it's me," Dean returned, even as he was peeling out of his jacket. His shirt was soaked in a matter of seconds as Dean draped his jacket over Castiel's naked shoulders. "What the hell happened, Cas?"

Cas just stared into Dean's face a moment. "I… I don't…"

Sam didn't have to see that stormy, pissed-off mama-bear look that overtook Dean's face at Castiel's disorientation to know it was there, because Sam had grown up seeing it. He just knew he had to bend to its will when Dean ordered, "Let's get him inside."

Sam took one side and Dean the other, and together they hauled Castiel up off the ground. They tried to prop him up on his feet so he could walk under his own power, but the second they started to take away their support, Castiel's knees buckled. "Whoa whoa whoa," Dean muttered as Castiel sagged against him… Sam noticed how Castiel certainly chose the direction he sagged.

Dean was taking nearly all of Castiel's weight and he looked fine with it, so Sam decided he could be more helpful doing something else. He ran back to the car (parked in the middle of the lot with one door open), got in, and drove it up to the space in front of their motel room. It was a very short distance; Dean had already half-carried Castiel most of the way to the room by the time Sam turned off the car, pocketed the keys, and clambered back out again.

Sam got the motel room door unlocked and swung it open just about the same time Dean led a weak and trembling Castiel inside.

Dean eased Castiel down on to the nearest bed. Castiel went where Dean guided him, meek and mild like an abandoned kitten. He sure didn't give off badass angel of the Lord vibes. In fact, he looked pretty pitiful wearing nothing but Dean's soaked jacket and shaking so hard his teeth clacked together. Dean was all over and around him, for the moment the angel's recent questionable behavior forgotten as Dean threw himself into his work.

At that point, Sam began little more than a gopher, fetching Dean this and that while Dean went into caretaker mode. Sam rarely let on to Dean just how good his big brother was in the role, because Dean found it emasculating or some shit like that. But fact remained that Dean had a real knack for it… more father _and_mother-like than John Winchester had ever been when Sam was growing up, anyway.

When Sam came back from the bathroom with the towels in hand that Dean requested, Dean was hunkered down trying to get hold of Castiel's attention. "Cas? Hey, man… what did this to you?"

There was no answer. Castiel looked miserable. He was shaking and soaked, his hair plastered to his head and water running down his face in rivulets. Dean took the towels from Sam and tossed aside the jacket he'd draped over Cas. Respect made Sam's eyes flick away momentarily, because he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to be seeing a naked angel. Dean didn't let modesty check him as he unfurled one of the big white towels and covered Cas with it. His hand cupped Castiel's neck and Dean frowned.

"His skin's ice-cold, dude," Dean said lowly.

And his lips looked blue, too. Sam wordlessly went to the room's heating unit and cranked it up ten degrees. The thing came to life with a hot breath of air (with a fittingly foul smell to match), but it would take a while before the room was anywhere close to toasty.

Sam watched Dean towel off the wet angel. Castiel sat through it speechless, eyes unfocused and expression slack. The only movement coming from him and not from Dean's ministrations was the wracking shaking that rippled through his slight frame. Had Castiel always been so small underneath all those clothes?

Then Castiel's eyelids began to drop and he swayed.

"Fuck," Dean swore as his hands shot out to steady Castiel. After drying off most of Castiel, even ruffling a fresh towel through his dark hair, the angel still looked frozen half to death. Dean could see that just as well as Sam. Dean touched Castiel's cheek and tried to get a good look at his eyes, but Castiel was fading fast. That Castiel, an angel, was fading at all was disturbing.

Apparently, Dean whole-heartedly agreed, if the tone in his voice was any indication. "He's still hypothermic." Dean glanced up and toward the bathroom, no doubt contemplating sticking Castiel in a warm bath (because no way could he keep on his feet for a shower), but Castiel looked like he was going to nod off any second. Someone would have to get in the bath with him just to keep him from drowning himself, and that was starting to sound like a lot more work than the obvious alternative. Dean sighed roughly, dipped his chin toward his chest, and with only that to go on Sam knew what was coming. "Sammy… get me some dry underwear."

Sam went to Dean's duffel and dug out a dry pair of boxer briefs and tossed them to Dean. With single-minded determination, Dean went to work. He wiped the damp towels away and to the floor and tugged Castiel up to his feet. It was shocking how easily Castiel went, though he ended up leaning heavily on Dean to stay upright (or maybe just seeking heat). Sam strode forward and turned down the covers of the bed, trying not to look at the pasty expanse of goose-pimpled skin on display so close to him. Dean grimly lowered Castiel on to the bed and worked him under the covers, arranging him until he was lying on his back blinking up languidly at the ceiling.

Then Dean was stripping out of his own soaked clothes, leaving them in a sopping pile on the ugly carpet. He went down to nothing, then stepped into the dry underwear Sam had given him. Then, without a word, Dean climbed into bed with Castiel. Sam pulled the covers up around both of them while Dean reached over for Castiel and awkwardly pulled the man toward his body heat. When the angel flopped over to lie flush with Dean, Dean sucked in a surprised breath.

"What?" Sam asked, worried.

"He's _cold_," Dean snarled, and that was that. Dean said nothing more as he shifted and tugged and arranged until Dean was on his back and Castiel was in his arms and drawn in until he was lying more on Dean than on the bed. The angel was visibly shivering, but even in his disoriented state when he recognized the warmth against him he snuggled down into it.

"You ever say a word about this and I'll shoot you," Dean warned Sam with a glower.

Sam just offered a pathetic smirk. The brothers tormented each other about a lot, but there was an unwritten Winchester code that stated anything done in a life-or-death situation was off limits for later teasing. And right now, it looked like Castiel actually might be in a life-or-death situation.

Sam gathered up the wet towels and clothes and tossed them on the bathroom floor. "Will you be okay with him?" Sam asked, standing around dripping on the carpet and soaked to the bone.

Dean looked up at Sam from peering down at the black head of hair pillowed on his chest. "Yeah, I'm good… he's already not shaking quite so much. Fuck, Sam, what _happened_to him?"

All Sam could offer was a shrug. Then he went and took a long, hot shower.

When he got out and pulled out some sleep clothes, the room was on its way to stuffy. The bad-breath heater was at least doing its job, no matter how odiously. Sam cast a glance toward the bed where his brother and the angel were sharing body heat. They were in the same position Sam had seen them in before he showered, but there was no sign of the violent shaking that had claimed Castiel's frame before.

Dean looked Sam's way and said lowly, "He's asleep."

Sam finished pulling the t-shirt down over his head and froze. "_Asleep_?"

There was a worried expression on his face as Dean nodded. They were both thinking the same thing: angels don't sleep. For that matter, angels don't get hypothermia from being exposed to the elements.

A sick feeling began to settle in Sam's stomach. "Do you think he's…" He couldn't finish the thought aloud, but he obviously didn't have to. Dean's stricken look confirmed that he shared Sam's concern.

"I don't know, Sammy." Dean turned his attention to the sleeping man in his arms. "Damnit, Cas, what the hell happened?"

Castiel, unsurprisingly, didn't answer.

Exhausted and at a loss for what else they could possibly do for now, Sam crawled into the second bed and in no time at all was fast asleep. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd wake up to find that the whole bizarre evening had been a dream.

To Be Continued…

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><p>AN: I'm participating in the help_japan Lightning Round by offering fanfic. If you're interested, you can find more info at my LJ: miss_annthropic dot livejournal dot com


	2. Chapter 2

_Exhausted and at a loss for what else they could possibly do for now, Sam crawled into the second bed and in no time at all was fast asleep. Maybe, if he was lucky, he'd wake up to find that the whole bizarre evening had been a dream._

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><p>Sam was not so lucky. Not only was it not a dream, but Sam was jerked awake by the sound of screaming.<p>

The younger Winchester was half out of bed before he was even fully awake, looking frantically for the source of the screaming at the same time he heard his brother mutter, "Shit!" He saw Dean racing across the room, from the bathroom area to the bed by the door where the screaming was coming from.

Sam shook the sleep from his brain and realized that Castiel was lying in bed, thrashing and screaming in his sleep. A nightmare. The angel was actually having a nightmare… and a Winchester-quality one, from the looks of it.

Dean sat on the bed beside Castiel, took his shoulders in his hands, and shook him. "Cas! Cas, wake up! It's okay, it's all right, you're safe."

Which was possibly the biggest lie in the history of _ever_, they still had no clue what was going on, but Sam just stood dumbly and watched.

Castiel jerked awake with a strangled cry and looked up, wild-eyed and panicked, into Dean's face. He looked freaked out seven ways from Sunday, but slowly he began to relax as awareness came back to him. "Dean?"

"Yeah, man… it's me." Dean's grip on Cas loosened but he did not let him go. "What was that? Since when do you dream?"

A crease slowly began to form between Castiel's eyebrows as he frowned up at Dean. "I… don't?"

Dean shot a worried look toward Sam. Then he returned his attention to Castiel. "Cas… you know who I am, right?"

A fleeting look a little like peace passed over Castiel's face. "Yes… you're Dean."

"Right, good… and you?"

"Cas… my name is Castiel."

"So far so good… what about him?" Dean hitched a thumb toward Sam.

Castiel turned his head and seemed to only then realize Sam was even in the room with them. For a moment, Castiel just stared stupidly at him. Then he looked puzzled. "I… I don't know. Do I know him?" He looked to Dean again, waiting for answers.

"Wow, man, that's gotta sting," Dean taunted Sam off-handedly, but there wasn't much heart in it.

Sam stepped forward. "I'm Sam… remember?"

"Sam…" Castiel tested the name on his tongue. He mulled it over, then a fervent, scared/smitey look flashed in his eyes and he looked sharply toward Sam. It had that air of 'angel first meeting the abomination with demon blood' to it. Sam remembered that chilling reception when he first met Castiel years ago, and he didn't miss the feeling.

"Easy," Dean said as he splayed a hand on Castiel's chest. "He won't hurt you. Sam's a friend… he's my brother." Dean peered closely at Castiel. "You don't remember that?"

"I think… I remember… I don't know. It's all tangled and confused." He looked plaintively toward Dean, like he was on the verge of genuinely freaking out.

"Hey, hey… it's all right, Cas. It'll come to you. Don't worry about it. You're safe with us."

Cas seemed dubious about his relative safety in Sam's company, but the look he turned on Dean was pure trust. "I know."

"Castiel…?" Sam ventured.

Castiel tensed but turned his eyes slowly to regard Sam.

"Uh… do you know… remember… you know what you are?"

Dean looked down at Castiel expectantly.

Castiel frowned in consternation. "I… I'm like you. I'm human."

Dean and Sam exchanged furtive looks.

"But I wasn't… this is new… I was…" Castiel searched Dean's face for guidance. "I was _an angel_." Castiel's hands gripped the comforter tightly. "Why am I not now?"

"Not sure," Dean answered, "but we'll figure this out. Promise." Dean glanced toward Sam then back at Castiel, silently communicating the 'we need to talk' sentiment loud and clear. "Just rest, okay?"

That looked like about the last thing Castiel was about to do, but he accepted the order without protest.

Sam threw on the rest of his clothes before he and Dean stepped outside the room. They stayed close to the door, in case Cas got into trouble. Dean jumped in first. "What the hell, man?"

"I have no idea… so what, he's fallen?"

"Maybe… I don't know. He's been close to falling before, and it looked pretty much human. So he could still have some mojo in him, but hell if I know how to go looking for it."

"And the amnesia could make things… tricky."

"You think?"

It posed interesting questions about the angels in general, though. "What if this is what happened to all the angels?" Sam thought aloud. "What if there's no sign of them around because they all fell?"

"I have no clue, dude. Does that mean the civil war upstairs is over? That's one way to cut down the stakes, turn all the smitey heavy-hitters into poor human bastards. Couldn't do as much damage that way."

"And do they all have the addled memory that Castiel does? Maybe they won't even remember they're at war."

Dean looked out at the clear, fresh morning breaking. It was deceptively serene, especially compared to the storm last night. "I don't know… no angels in Heaven anymore? Does that sound at all right to you?"

"No." But it was all he had.

"What could make all the angels fall? And what would do that and not be tearing the planet to pieces while it was at it? You'd think anything that could tear the wings off all the angels would be treating the rest of us like chew toys. We should be grabbing our ankles and kissing our asses goodbye, if that's what went down."

"But there's nothing," Sam concurred.

Dean shook his head, frustrated.

"What now?"

After a moment in deep thought, Dean dug into his pocket and handed Sam the keys to the Impala. "Get us breakfast. I should probably stay with him."

Since Dean seemed to be the only person Castiel remembered and trusted implicitly, Sam wasn't about to argue. If it turned out Castiel _did_still have some angel mojo in him, he didn't want to find out by startling a confused angel into accidentally smiting him.

* * *

><p>Dean went back inside and his eyes went immediately to the bed where Castiel lay. He couldn't help the knot of wariness in his stomach, and he didn't think it was just the epic wrongness of an angel nearly freezing to death last night. When he'd been intent on making sure Cas was okay last night, he'd been able to put aside how strained their friendship had been lately. Now that Cas wasn't on death's door anymore, that awkwardness and uncertainty was back.<p>

And did Castiel even remember that they'd been at odds more times than not for the better part of a year? And the year before that, when Dean had been reeling from Sam's 'death', Castiel had been a no-show. At first, being at Lisa's had been really hard for him to take, and more than once he'd called out for Castiel. He just wanted someone who understood him. He just wanted someone who could actually comfort him. But Castiel never came. Eventually, Dean got the hint and stopped calling for him and applied himself to _making_ normal apple-pie work. And when the angel was back in the Winchesters' lives, Cas never once mentioned how he had _abandoned_ Dean for a whole year. The world might not have been burning, but Dean had still _needed_Castiel, and the angel he thought was his friend ignored his prayers.

That betrayal was just beneath of surface of every terse word they said to each other in the past year. Sam had no idea, because if Castiel wasn't going to bring it up, Dean wasn't going to be the wussy and admit to a time when he'd needed anyone (especially someone who couldn't bother to be there). If anyone asked, Dean would deny ever once asking for Castiel to come to him during his year with Lisa, but Castiel and Dean both knew the bitter truth. It was shitty, because Dean had thought Castiel was his friend, that he could count on him, even if he wasn't human, and Castiel had let him down.

But now here he was, possibly fallen and needing Dean, and Dean was torn about what to do. Part of him wanted to take Cas in like a brother, but another part of him wanted to make Cas know what it felt like to be alone and in pain and be ignored. A petty part of him wanted Castiel to feel like he'd made Dean feel.

At the moment, Cas looked too miserable for Dean to actually toss him out on his ass, no matter how vindictive. He'd burrowed back under the covers while the brothers were outside. He clutched them tightly around himself, head buried in the pillow and his body curled in a fetal position. His brow was knit. Dean couldn't help it. His concern pegged.

"Cas?" Dean went to the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Cold."

The room was pretty damn warm. Dean had turned the heater down some when he woke, because it felt like a swamp in the middle of summer when he got up, but it was still uncomfortably toasty in the room. That didn't change the fact Castiel was shivering under the covers that he clung to so desperately.

Dean reached down and rested his fingers against Castiel's cheek. The angel leaned into the touch without opening his eyes, and Dean tried not to care. He pursed his lips. "You don't feel cold."

Rather than argue that he suffered all the same, whether Dean concurred or not, Castiel curled into a tighter ball and kept stubbornly silent.

Dean stole the comforter off Sam's bed and covered Castiel with it. Castiel opened his eyes from under a mound of blankets and looked up at Dean. "Thank you."

That made Dean's lip twitch. "Sure. So…" Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. "Want to tell me what you remember before last night?"

His shaking at last beginning to abate, Castiel's face screwed as he struggled to remember. "I was… air."

"Air?"

Castiel held up one of his hands in front of his own face and stared at the digits. "I wasn't like this, I was boundless. _Light_."

"So wavelength of celestial intent, or whatever."

"Then… something of enormous import happened."

Now they were getting somewhere. "Do you remember what, exactly, of enormous import?"

"No." Castiel scowled. "It was huge, and the whole of existence bent to its power. Then I was flying." Castiel shivered, but not from the cold this time. "No… I was _falling_. I only remember thinking one thing, over and over."

Dean waited expectantly.

Castiel looked up at him beseechingly. "Find Dean."

That made Dean squirm uneasily. "Well, here I am, you found me. You don't remember anything else? Were you hauling ass here to tell me something… a warning, maybe?"

Castiel shifted under the mountain of blankets and looked flummoxed. "I don't… I know it's over."

"What's over? The civil war? The world? Heaven? Give me something here, Cas."

"I don't know… I just know it's over."

Frustrated, Dean sat back against the headboard. So much for having an angel on the team if his memory was scrambled.

Dean startled when a slim hand was slipping over his thigh, searching for Dean's hands limp in his lap. He was too surprised by the touch to pull away when Castiel found Dean's hand and he curled his fingers around Dean's. "I'm sorry I can't be more useful," he said solemnly.

Dean shrugged and ducked out from underneath Castiel's hand, standing in the process. "Yeah, well… we're not any worse off than we were two days ago. Still stumbling around without a clue."

Castiel looked wounded, though by what exactly Dean wasn't sure. He drew his hand back underneath the blankets, withdrawing into himself like a chastised dog.

"Do you feel all right?" Dean thought to ask. When Castiel glanced up at him, blue eyes so damn innocent and open, Dean felt the gaze like a weight. "I mean, you know… I didn't see any injuries on you last night, but are you hurt somewhere I can't see?"

There was a very pregnant pause. "No."

That had the ring of 'lie' to it, but Dean let it go. If Castiel didn't want to be honest with him, well, it wouldn't be the first time.

Remembering that Sam would be heading back with breakfast soon, and that Castiel was still stark naked under all those blankets, he went to his duffel and pulled out a pair of underwear (which he was officially giving to Cas, because sharing underwear crossed a line), jeans, belt, and a black t-shirt. "Here," Dean said as he set them on the bed next to Castiel, "get dressed."

For a second, Castiel just stared at the clothes before his hand snaked out to claim them. Dean thought he might actually try to get dressed under the blankets, but then Castiel stiffly climbed out of bed and fumbled with the clothing… understanding the idea but lacking the actual experience of dressing himself. Dean turned away from the sight of Castiel, badass angel of the Lord, struggling like a pre-schooler to dress himself, because it was hard not to offer to help.

"So, Cas…" Dean said off-handedly, trying not to sound too friendly while he wandered toward the bathroom area.

"Yes, Dean." Cas said it so plainly, like Dean had asked a question and Castiel was giving him the only answer he would ever have for Dean Winchester. It was eerie.

"How much about you do you remember? I mean… angel. Is that it?" He turned to see Castiel standing by the bed, fully dressed and looking down at his attire as if it were as odd to him as wearing a suit of armor or being dressed in drag. Maybe his tax accountant get-up had felt less like clothes and more like a second layer of his borrowed skin. Castiel looked up at Dean, bewildered, then he frowned. "I… I know I am – was, an angel of the Lord. I was a warrior of God."

"So you remember Heaven and all that jazz?" Dean asked, maintaining the gaping distance between them. With Cas, the distance seemed even greater, but only because Castiel had such a habit of being inside Dean's personal space bubble.

"Not in detail," Castiel replied hesitantly. "I have impressions. I consider it home. I know I miss it." He looked down miserably, staring at his bare toes against the fugly carpet.

Even trying to keep his distance in every sense of the word, Dean felt a pang of sympathy for Castiel.

"But I also remember… I remember strife. Unrest." Castiel shook his head, "Then I just remember it all ending." With a consternated look, Castiel crawled back into bed, under the double layer of comforters, and pulled the blankets close.

Dean thought that was the end of that, but just as he was turning back toward the sink Castiel spoke from underneath his mound of covers. "And I remember you."

Not sure what he could possibly say, Dean just grunted and went into the bathroom, just to have a door to shut that didn't require him ditching Cas. That door between them was all he wanted just then.

To Be Continued…

* * *

><p>AN: I have to say that it's been driving me CRAZY how much Dean and Cas are fitting together like a square peg and a round hole this season, especially when they were so in-synch and on the same page last season. So my Muse sayeth 'what the fuck?' I have to believe there was something big that we missed that made Dean pull back like he'd been burned. So this was my own way of trying to make the discord make sense!


	3. Chapter 3

When Sam got back to the motel, there was no sign of his brother. A piercing pair of blue eyes was locked on him from the bed, sandwiched between a mountain of blankets and a mess of black hair. The sudden fury in them stopped Sam cold in the doorway at first, bags of food in his hands.

"Uh… where's Dean?"

"About damn time," Dean said, emerging from the bathroom and striding across the room toward his brother.

When Sam glanced back toward Castiel's peeking eyes, the venom was gone, replaced with wary watchfulness and curiosity.

Dean unloaded the food on the table while Sam took off his coat and dropped the keys next to the television.

"Come on, Cas," Dean beckoned without turning to look at him.

"What?"

"Well, if you're human, then you gotta eat. I can only assume _this_is for you," Dean brandished a clear plastic cup of mixed fruit. He turned a dour eye on his younger brother. "Wow, you didn't want him to enjoy this, did you? Don't you remember Jimmy being a fiend for burgers? Couldn't find a nice, greasy Egg McMuffin or something?"

Closing his eyes and counting to ten, Sam explained, "If Castiel _is_… if he's full-fledged human… who knows how hardy his digestive system is? I don't want to know what regurgitated Egg McMuffin looks like."

"Ewww…" Dean turned to the bed finally. "Cas?"

Castiel was still buried in his nest of blankets. "I don't think… I don't think I'm hungry."

"Even if you aren't now, you will be later if you don't eat something. Come on, your _fruit's_getting cold."

"I don't want cold," Castiel insisted, surprisingly petulant.

Dean rolled his eyes and went over to his duffel. He pulled out a flannel shirt and took it to Cas. "Here… this'll keep you warm."

Castiel slithered out of bed and into the long-sleeved shirt in one motion. By the time he shuffled over to the small table, Dean and Sam were already starting into their own breakfasts. Castiel picked up the container of fruit and eyed it in his cupped hands a while. Then, still cradling the cup, he began to wander around the room.

Sam watched the angel uncertainly, then turned toward Dean. "Did you get any sense of how _compos mentis_he is?"

"We don't all speak lawyer, bitch."

"Dean… is he playing with a full deck?"

"Was that so hard?" Dean glanced toward the angel. Sam looked, too, and Castiel had made his way toward the dresser where Dean's duffel was lying open, its contents half-spilling out. "It's not full-blown amnesia… I mean, he knows who and what he is, but it's like someone ripped out all the pages with the plot. He's Cliff's Notes Cas. All he has is the big picture stuff." Dean frowned in Castiel's direction. Sam turned to look and saw that Castiel had set down his cup of fruit and was tugging on the sleeve of Dean's green jacket poking out of the bag. He worked it loose with care, stood a moment with it in his hands, then awkwardly shrugged into it. When it was draped over his shoulders, too big and bulky for his frame (which was actually kind of familiar, reminiscent of the trench coat), he hugged it close around his body.

"Just help yourself, Cas," Dean quipped sarcastically.

Sam kicked him in the shin under the table.

"Ow! What?"

"Seriously?" Sam whispered harshly. "Could you try being a little less of an ass? This is probably really hard on him, and you could at least act like you get that."

Dean scowled, but when he noticed Castiel regretfully moving to remove the jacket, Dean stopped him. "No, it's okay, Cas. Really… wear it if you want."

Castiel pulled it snug around himself again. Then he gathered up his still-untouched cup of fruit and came back toward the table. He sat on the edge of the bed facing the brothers, cup held awkwardly between slightly-curled fingers. He looked between the Winchesters, letting his gaze linger much longer on Dean before he said, "I'll try to answer any questions you have, but I can't promise anything."

"Do you know why you fell?" Sam asked carefully.

"Because it ended," Castiel answered reflexively, only a second later frowning like he realized that wasn't a complete answer but he didn't know the rest of it.

"Well, is anything after us?" Dean asked.

"Not that I know of…"

"Yeah, but the list of things you know about right now leaves a lot to be desired," Dean commented dryly.

That earned Dean another solid kick in the leg.

"Knock it off!"

"Dean's right," Castiel said softly, staring down in abject misery at his fruit.

"You don't have to take his side just because you like him," Sam pointed out testily.

Castiel lifted his eyebrows and looked first at Sam, then toward Dean. "I'm not. Dean's right. I'm not being of much assistance. If anything, I'm a burden like this." He moved his arms out at the elbows, in a half-assed indication of his body and its currently human state. "If I had anywhere else to go, I would free you from this cross." Castiel looked thoughtful. "If you know of somewhere for me to go, I will."

Dean was moodily silent, refusing to speak. Sam just glowered at him in disbelief, preparing himself to give Dean another kick in the shin. He got that Dean had some serious issues with Castiel lately, but he never thought his brother would turn his back on a friend. Dean made friends like rivers formed canyons… slowly and painstakingly. And once made, his loyalty was just as hard to reverse as a canyon was to unmake. If Sam had any doubts about that, the way Dean took care of Castiel last night said it all. But this, Dean's behavior now, was in utter contrast to the 'do anything' concern he'd shown last night.

"We're not ditching you, Cas," Dean finally said. "Just… we have to figure out where the hell we go from here. But no more talk of 'getting rid of you', got that?"

Castiel nodded in not-so-disguised relief.

"Well, I think our first order of business should be looking up last night's local meteorological reports."

"Well, doesn't _that_sound fun," Dean said sarcastically.

Sometimes it was exhausting having such a dense brother. "If Castiel actually fell, there could have been an 'event'… like when Anna fell. The meteor that landed where that tree grew later." Sam ran through the idea some more. "Then, I guess, a world-wide search to see if there's any signs of the other angels falling, too."

"How about it? Remember crashing to earth like little Clark Kent, Cas?" Dean asked.

"I remember hitting the pavement hurt," Cas remarked absently.

A tense silence followed.

Dean shoved the last of his breakfast in his mouth in a truly disgusting display of bad manners, then he got up from the table. "You can take internet duty, Sammy, I'll surf the channels." And Dean might actually watch a little bit of the weather channel, but anything with perky nipples or a pert ass would get plenty of study, too. Fortunately, Sam would count himself lucky if Dean would just stay out of his hair long enough for Sam to get the actual work done.

When Dean went over to the stripped bed, flopped down, and fished the remote off the nightstand, Castiel wordlessly set the untouched fruit on the table and retreated back underneath his mound of blankets.

* * *

><p>Three hours later, Sam looked up from his laptop and blinked the strain out of his eyes. "Well, I can't find anything about any meteor showers. Not anywhere, and definitely nothing about anything crashing to earth around here."<p>

Dean glanced over at Sam from watching television. He was propped against the headboard, legs crossed at the ankles. Dean had to look across Castiel to regard Sam. About an hour into their quiet research ritual, Castiel had stirred from his nest of covers. His restlessness and apparent discomfort got progressively worse, and Dean figured out Castiel needed to use the restroom. He led Castiel to the bathroom and gestured expansively into the small room and left Castiel to it. While Castiel was left to figure out the mechanics, Dean went back to the bed and resumed his channel surfing. When Castiel came out, he moved back toward the bed he'd slept in then stopped. He glanced long and imploringly at Dean on the other bed. For a while, Dean kind of just ignored it. Of course, no one had staying power like an angel, and finally with a sigh Dean scooted over and Castiel sat down next to Dean, mirroring his body posture and quietly watching whatever Dean happened to put on without comment.

They were still in that same pose now, only Castiel had his arms crossed over his chest, holding the jacket tight and closed around his body.

Dean put the remote down on the mattress. "So we don't even have any proof that _Cas_really fell."

"I _urinated_, Dean," Castiel said gravely.

Despite himself, Sam chuckled.

"You got pretty close to human once before," Dean countered. "Sleeping and getting sick and stuck on the ground like the rest of us, but you were still an angel, just an angel out of juice. Don't you remember?"

Castiel frowned. "I recall… a time when I felt closer to you. Less alien in your eyes."

That would totally fall into the chick-flick category in Dean's book. Predictably, Dean scowled uncomfortably.

"I'm _fallen_, Dean," Castiel persisted. "I may not remember how or why, but I know what I'm not." Castiel's eyes narrowed and he added testily, "If someone cut off your arm, you'd know it, wouldn't you? Even if the limb couldn't be found to prove it."

Dean flinched and shot an unguarded, worried look toward Castiel at that… almost before he could remember he was supposed to not care that much or something. Compassion filled his eyes before that stubborn, childish set returned to his jaw.

"Well," Sam interjected before Dean could say something else insensitive. "Then this is a falling we haven't encountered before. I mean, with Anna, she chose to fall and tore out her grace."

"Right, and was born a human with no memory that she used to be an angel… at least not until we pried it out of her."

"But since Castiel's not a twinkle in some unsuspecting woman's eye, then this is a different kind of falling. One that keeps the Jimmy Novak look intact."

While the brothers were talking, Castiel was staring down at his hands. Without warning, he said, "You look at this face, this body, and you see a friend."

Dean and Sam turned identical puzzled looks on Cas. "Uh… sure… okay, Cas," Dean said haltingly. Sam had only a shrug when Dean looked toward his brother.

Sam shut his laptop in surrender. "I don't know what else to tell you guys. Like everything else here lately, I can't find a single thing out of the ordinary."

"Except the fact that there's nothing out of the ordinary," Dean pointed out.

All Sam gave in response was an acknowledging gesture.

"Well… guess we could start making our way to Bobby's. Maybe he'll have something in his library that will give us some ideas."

Sam wanted to point out that Bobby had probably already looked into everything there was to look into among his old tomes and then some, but he knew Dean suggested it not so much because there was a chance they'd find anything, but mostly because Dean needed some direction. If they couldn't be heading toward a hunt, they might as well be heading toward Bobby's.

Not like Bobby wasn't used to the Winchesters dragging weird shit to his doorstep, anyway. Wouldn't even be the first fallen angel they'd shown up with, either.

"All right." Sam glanced at his watch, "It's already late, and we're paid up in this room through tomorrow. Head out in the morning, you think?"

Dean nodded.

"Okay, well," Sam stood, gathering up his laptop, "I'm going to get me a separate room for tonight."

That had Dean up off the bed in a hurry. "What? Why?"

Sam just cast a reproving look at his big brother.

Sensing a discreet conversation in the offing, Dean walked up to Sam and asked lowly, "What the hell, dude?"

"Dude, Castiel's not comfortable around me. I'm sure once he gets some more of his memories back, it'll be fine, but for right now I think I shouldn't hang around. Maybe… maybe if he can have a few hours without his guard up, he'll remember something else. Or maybe he already does but doesn't want to say anything in front of me." Sam stopped and stared at his brother. Dean looked really resistant to being alone with Castiel, which went against everything Sam had come to expect of that mismatched pair. If anything, they used to be all too comfortable together, in some weird, indefinable way. "What's with you, man?"

"Nothing," Dean growled. "You're right, for now Cas would probably feel more comfortable with you gone."

Usually, Sam felt a thrill of satisfaction when his big brother admitted Sam was right. Not this time, though.

To Be Continued…


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I totally wasn't expecting this, my dear readers, but this fic is now longer than Saving Grace was… and I'm still not done writing. Also, I realize this is several chapters devoted to only a couple of days' time, but I just couldn't see a way around that. I imagine in a situation like this, a lot of crap is going to happen/come up in those first few days.

* * *

><p>Under the assumption that time alone together was the best thing for Dean and Castiel both, Sam kept himself away for most of the day, even resisting the temptation to call Dean's cell and check in. He figured if anything happened, Dean would call him and let him know.<p>

Sam finally showed up at Dean and Castiel's motel room in the evening with dinner. When Dean let him into the room, Sam's eyes went immediately to Castiel. The angel (until they had _proof_Castiel wasn't an angel anymore, Sam knew he wouldn't be able to stop thinking of the guy as angelic) was perched on the far bed, staring at the television, though he didn't look like he was actually paying attention to the program. He looked bigger, and Sam realized a second later it was because Castiel had put on two more layers of flannels underneath the jacket he'd swiped from Dean.

When Sam came in, Castiel glanced up at him. There was a hint of wariness still, but not that knee-jerk 'want to smite the shit out of that' fire he'd seen before, so Sam counted that as progress.

"Hi, Castiel." Sam set the styrofoam tray of drinks on the table.

"Hello, Sam."

Sam turned toward his brother. Dean looked haggard. "How's it going?" Sam asked in a low voice.

Dean sighed. "He won't let me turn the television off."

That made Sam's eyebrows move toward his hairline. "Why not?"

"No clue. He's not even watching it – you ask him what he's looking at now and he couldn't tell you – but he won't let me turn it off. He dozed off for a while about an hour ago and woke up freaking out." Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. It was only their first day dealing with Castiel gone human, and already it looked like it was wearing Dean thin.

"I imagine it would be a really rough adjustment," Sam mused.

Dean harrumphed.

At a loss for anything else to say, Sam dug into the bag and handed Dean a foil-wrapped hamburger. Dean sat down at the table to unwrap it. Sam set his own grilled chicken sandwich on the table opposite Dean, then carried the rest of the bag over to Castiel. "Here, Castiel."

Castiel accepted the bag blankly. "What's this?"

"Chow time," Dean answered from the table.

"I got you a salad," Sam said helpfully, trying out a friendly smile.

Castiel looked down into the bag dubiously.

"You have to eat, Cas," Dean scolded. "You haven't eaten since you got here… you can't keep that up."

Still, Castiel sat numbly with the bag of food in his hand.

"Come here," Dean said sternly.

It was kind of pathetic how immediately Castiel rose from the bed and went to Dean. Like before, he sat on the edge of the bed near the table, watching Dean intently.

Dean took the bag from Castiel's hand, set it on the table, then pushed his burger with one bite taken from it toward the angel. "Eat."

After regarding the burger askance a moment, Castiel picked it up and took a bite. Surprised delight crossed his face and he began to chew with gusto.

Dean snorted and threw a look at Sam. "Told you." By the time Sam made his way back to the table, Dean had stolen Sam's chicken sandwich and Sam was relegated to eating the salad. But if that's what it took to get Castiel to eat, he'd shut up and eat the salad.

"So," Sam said as he sat down. "What have you guys been talking about all day?" He secretly was hoping for some useful resurfacing of memories on Castiel's part.

"Dean hasn't been talking," Castiel said around a mouthful of hamburger.

Sam shot a look at Dean. Dean was scowling down murderously at the sandwich before him.

"Dean…"

"What? How long can we play the 'remember anything?' 'no, not really' game before that's been beat to death?"

It took all of the restraint Sam had not to reach over and stab Dean in the eye with his plastic fork. He looked to Castiel and said, "You have to forgive Dean, Castiel. He can be a colossal ass sometimes."

"Hey!"

"I remember," Castiel mumbled.

Sam snorted and Dean shook his head. "Sure, remember _that_. You know, you're not entirely off the hook, either. You were a dick plenty of times. Suppose you don't remember that, though." Dean looked sharply at Castiel, and Sam could swear there was something unspoken and pointed in it. Like maybe Sam was missing something big.

Castiel swallowed and returned Dean's look squarely. Then his brow furrowed. "I don't serve you," he said slowly, digging up the words from his jumbled memories and reciting them with cold detachment.

Dean scowled angrily.

Sam put a hand over his eyes and shook his head. He was going to get a headache from these two.

"Cas?" The thick concern in Dean's voice brought Sam's head up abruptly. Castiel was sitting there, wide-eyed and stiff. His breathing was speeding up and his eyes were darting.

"Cas? What's wrong?" Dean was out of his chair and moving toward Castiel like a reflex. He sat down on the bed next to Cas just as Sam started to rise. Castiel flinched away from Sam, pressing himself into Dean in the process of trying to retreat. Sam froze at once and sat back down helplessly, watching. He cast a frantic look around the room, searching for anything telling. Were they about to be attacked? He didn't see anything, but that didn't mean Castiel didn't sense something humans couldn't.

Dean's hands came up tentatively and touched Castiel on his back and his shoulder. Castiel trembled once at the contact but leaned further into Dean's body. Dean let his hands settle on the angel in a tentative embrace.

"Damn, Cas, what the hell?" Dean asked, back to all in when it came to being concerned for Castiel. And if there wasn't still something really profound there, their recent spats to the contrary be damned, Sam would eat his own socks.

"I… I was punished for that," Castiel said shakily. "I remember… I was trying to help you, and I wasn't supposed to, and they… I remember intense pain."

So it was a flashback… and a nasty one, at that.

An angry look settled over Dean's face and he held Castiel just a little tighter. "Yeah… torture sucks." There was a raw quality to Dean's voice that made Sam and Castiel look up into his face. Dean's expression was fierce and guarded all at once, but somehow that seemed to be what Castiel needed. He sat up a little (hands still clutching Dean's shirt) and met Dean's look head-on. He took strength from it, and it was nice to see them bonding, but Sam hated that they were bonding over having the experience of being tortured in common.

Only then did Castiel seem to notice how shamelessly he'd fallen into Dean in the grip of his flashback. He loosened his fingers and leaned away slowly. "I apologize," he said softly.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, then stopped himself and let his hands fall away from Castiel. "Whatever… s'fine. You good now?"

Castiel nodded stiffly.

While Dean moved back to his seat at the table, Castiel was excavating the rest of the memory that had been triggered. "So I… I turned against my own kind for you?" He looked up at Dean. "I betrayed my family for you." The latter was a statement, not a question.

"Well, you know, for humankind, yeah," Dean replied awkwardly.

Sam snorted. If Dean really believed Castiel turned against the other angels for anything other than one Dean Winchester, he was dumber than Sam ever suspected. But then, from the way Dean was not meeting Castiel's gaze and the laser-like way Castiel was staring at Dean, he was pretty sure no one in the room believed Dean's lame deflection.

"That's right, Castiel. You rebelled against Heaven and your brothers and sisters to help us," Sam offered peaceably. "Well, not _all_of them… some of your kind joined your side of the fight. Do you remember anything about the civil war between your followers and Raphael's?"

The name obviously meant something to Castiel. He sat up straighter, looked thoughtful, then turned a direct (almost accusing) look at Dean. "I started a civil war in Heaven for you?"

Dean coughed. "It wasn't for _me_… I mean, you know… you were trying to stop those bastards from restarting the freaking Apocalypse. It was for all of us."

A far-off look claimed Castiel's features, and when he spoke again it was in that same dream-like quality of pulling from the darkness a discreet memory, precise words preserved somehow in the confusion of Castiel's jumbled mind. "I rebelled, I'm hunted, and I did it, all of it, for you."

Dean froze.

Castiel shook off the memory and looked at Dean.

Without a word, Dean got up and was out the door. Leaving Sam and Castiel alone together. Sam waited with bated breath to see how Castiel would react to being left alone with Sam (clearly not confused-Castiel's favorite human), but the angel just looked dejected. "I don't understand."

"Yeah, well… you didn't pick the easiest human to befriend when it comes to Dean."

"I have memories of fondness…" He looked up at Sam, lost and forlorn. "Dean's behavior suggests we are not friends, but I cannot shake the sense that I want to be near him. That he is important to me, and I to him. Am I just confused?"

Whoa… this was way more than Sam bargained for. He'd always been careful to stay out of _whatever_it was that existed between Dean and Castiel. Mostly because he had no idea what was going on, but to pretend there was nothing there would have been being willfully blind. "Uh… well…"

"I have misjudged his feelings toward me." And damn if the angel didn't look depressed by the thought.

"Maybe, but you want my honest opinion? I don't think you have." Castiel looked attentive. Sam sighed. "You just have to remember that Dean... he's damaged. All of us Winchesters are. He's acting mad, but that's just because he's hurt."

"Why?"

Sam shrugged abashedly. Most of the past year hadn't caught him at his most observant or considerate when it came to Dean's emotional well-being. "I don't know. That's between you two. I don't know what happened that screwed up what you two had going. But he's not ready to give up on you. If he was, he'd have walked away by now."

Castiel glanced toward the door Dean had just left through and looked distressed.

"I mean for good," Sam amended. "Things just became a little too much for him just now, but he'll be back. If I know anything, I know the twisted sense of loyalty Dean has, and you're in there, Castiel. I can't count the ways I've screwed up really badly, but Dean never cut and ran on me. It's not in him, not once he's committed."

"And you think he's committed to me?"

That came out way differently than Sam meant for it to… but suddenly, he couldn't really deny it. Trust an amnesiatic angel to unwittingly cut to the heart of the matter.

"Yeah, he is. Things have been rough lately, but before that… honestly, sometimes I envied the bond you two had."

"You're his brother," Castiel countered, puzzled. "I remember, he… Dean would do anything for you." There was the hint of 'had done' in his words, like maybe he almost remembered that Dean sold his soul for his little brother.

"I know… but like you said, I'm his _brother_. There's a weird obligation with family…" Sam stopped cold when he realized he was talking to the guy who turned on his family for Dean's sake. When Castiel didn't look stricken, Sam pressed on. "I know Dean loves me, but he's stuck with me. We're blood. He _chose_you. I don't know how much about Dean you remember, but that's big."

"So he does care…"

Sam remembered watching the way Dean tended to a hypothermic Castiel, when the bluster and facades were gone and he was just honest, unmasked Dean. "Hell yes, he cares. But, you know, he's really crappy about showing it."

"And somehow I… hurt him…" Castiel was piecing together the clues from Sam's statements, stitching together a better picture of the issue.

"Yeah."

"And you don't know what I did?"

"You've had other priorities lately, but that doesn't really explain how defensive Dean's been around you." Sam shrugged. "Wish I could help you out there, but I figure the only people who know what happened are you and Dean."

Castiel looked down at his lap mournfully. "I don't want to have to leave him, Sam," the angel confessed faintly.

Suddenly, Sam was busting with the desire to ask Castiel the question he'd skirted for years. He wanted to know if the angel and Dean, somehow, had been involved. He'd considered the possibility before, of course, but he never dreamed of outright asking about it. He knew his brother would just shut down on him if he pried. And he didn't want Dean to get the impression that Sam disapproved. At first, the idea of Dean and another guy had been weird – only because Dean had always been so obviously into women – but it wasn't long before Sam didn't mind the thought of his brother and another man. Not if that was what could make Dean happy, and _damn_if Sam didn't think that if anyone could finally do it, it would be an angel.

One of the hardest things Sam had ever done was make Dean promise to go to Lisa once Sam was gone. If he'd been certain Dean was with Castiel, he might have asked differently… and he might not have. Sam didn't know if a long-term relationship with an angel was even doable, and asking Dean to swear to a life that might be impossible wasn't fair to him. That would make failure at the relationship Dean's failure to keep his promise to Sam, when in fact it might be completely out of his control. And if he was off base and Dean and Castiel _weren't_ together, he wasn't going to make his dying wish that Dean be with a guy (which he wasn't positive Dean was into) when he already knew for a fact Dean was into chicks (either in addition to guys or not). And if Sam had made Dean promise to be with Castiel, Dean would do his damnedest to follow through… even if that meant sticking it out when the relationship had blown apart, and Sam couldn't risk Dean growing to resent Sam for trapping him in a relationship doomed to fail. But leaving women Dean knew how to do, so Lisa was a safe bet. He could be with her, give the lifestyle an honest try, but still part ways if he realized it wasn't going to work. Sam wasn't so sure Dean could leave Castiel as easily. There was also the fact that being with an angel wouldn't be getting Dean out of the life of a hunter, and Sam wanted that desperately for Dean… even if only to figure out on his own that he didn't want it. And Sam _had_to get Dean to make some kind of promise about what he would do when Sam was gone, because if he didn't Dean would just hunt himself into the ground… figuratively and literally.

Now, in hindsight, he wondered if it would have been so bad to just make Dean promise to go to Castiel.

Sam hadn't thought so much about Dean and Castiel, in relation to each other, since he'd crafted how he was going to make Dean promise to give a life outside of hunting a go. And now here Castiel was, looking to Sam for guidance on a topic he had mostly made a tacit point to not be involved in.

The new bitterness between Dean and Castiel did have a flavor of the spurned lover about it… but Sam didn't know that for certain. Not enough to tell Castiel that was the problem. If Dean and Castiel hadn't been sleeping together before, he wasn't about to go and tell Castiel to try to seduce Dean to win him back. If he was wrong, he might destroy the fragile thing that still held the hunter and angel together.

"Dean won't ask you to leave." Sam was certain of that much. "Just remember that with him, not asking you to leave is the same as asking you to stay… because knowing Dean, he probably won't actually tell you he wants you around."

After a moment taking everything in, Castiel gave a small nod and said, "Thank you, Sam."

"Don't mention it." When Castiel's face started to screw at that, Sam quickly added, "I know you don't remember it, but you and I were friends, too."

Looking doubtful, Castiel looked up at him closely. "Like me and Dean were?"

Sam smirked. "No… definitely not like you and Dean, but that doesn't mean we weren't a different type of friends. If you never get those memories back, I hope you'll give me a chance to convince you to like me all over again."

Castiel's lips twitched in a barely-there smile. "I suspect that won't be too difficult."

Sam laughed. "Good… come on, finish your dinner. Figures you'd go for the hamburger. Guess it serves me right for thinking I knew what you'd like better than Dean would."

Castiel just nodded solemnly as he went back to eating the rest of Dean's hamburger.

* * *

><p>Dean avoided going back to the motel as long as he could (getting something to eat at a local diner and eating very, very slowly), but eventually he found himself heading back. Not that he was looking forward to walking through the door he'd bolted out of earlier. He didn't know how to handle Castiel like this. When they had both known damn well what had happened and didn't say a word about it, he'd been able to coast. It wasn't comfortable, but it was doable. He and the angel just glared at each other and <em>knew<em>, but neither was going to be the one to broach the touchy subject. But now Castiel _didn't_ remember, and he was asking the very questions Dean didn't want to examine. How the fuck could Dean tell Castiel about the angel leaving Dean on his own, ignoring his pleas and cries (he'd cried sometimes… his brother had just _died_, after all) for a fucking _year_?

Would Castiel beg for forgiveness? If he did, how could Dean ever say 'don't worry, Cas, it's okay', because it wasn't fucking okay. There had been times when Dean thought he was coming apart at the seams, barely holding it in because he dare not terrify the woman who'd taken him in, and all he wanted was his friend. Someone who'd been through the fires with him, someone who was there when Sam was lost… he wanted the closeness they'd forged, the bond tempered in the pits and hammered into shape on earth. He wanted that unstoppable, fierce protector that had fought his way through Hell to save him.

But Castiel turned his back on Dean. Apparently the bowels of Hell weren't insurmountable, but Cicero, Indiana was? When Dean wasn't part of the big plan to end the world anymore, he obviously wasn't worth an angel's time. And the bitch of it was, Dean had convinced himself their friendship transcended Heaven and Hell. It hurt to find out he was wrong, that he was nothing more than a tool, a pawn in the angels' great game of chess. If Dean had had any doubts about his place in the scheme of things, so far as Castiel was concerned, the angel's treatment of him of late said it all. Dean was a tool of Heaven… even without Michael all up his ass, he was still being used by higher powers. Only this time, the higher power taking advantage of him wore a face he'd thought he could trust. That was really so much worse than when it had been Michael sniffing after his meatsuit.

It was dark by the time he got back to the motel. He braced himself before he went inside his room.

Castiel was sitting on the bed watching television, surrounded by a nest of blankets and still wearing layers upon layers of clothes. He looked toward Dean when he came inside, and Dean hated how much the guy looked like a little kid left with cartoons as a babysitter.

"Hello, Dean."

"Where's Sam?"

"He went back to his room."

With a distracted nod, Dean turned to the table and emptied his pockets… he let the process take as much time as possible.

When he turned around again, he flinched to discover Castiel was standing only a few inches away. It was familiar, actually, but startling all the same. "Geez, Cas!"

Castiel stood firmly in place, studying Dean with those bright blue eyes, and said, "I don't know what I've done to you to make you hate me… but I apologize."

"I don't _hate_you," Dean countered angrily. Part of him wanted to move away, get Cas out of his personal space, but something kept him rooted to the spot. Maybe he'd just missed when Castiel used to do this… or, more accurately, he missed the Castiel that used to do this.

Clearly disbelieving, Castiel frowned and tilted his head. It made Dean's stomach tie in knots. "What did I do?"

Panic/anger/pain flared in Dean's chest. "No. You're not allowed to do that," Dean growled, side-stepping out of Castiel's target zone and moving a few paces away.

"Do what?"

"You're not allowed to ask me that!"

"How am I supposed to know how to make amends if I don't remember what I've done to upset you?"

"That's just it, Cas… you can't. I'm not interested in your apologies. You…" Dean stopped himself, taking a deep breath before it all poured out of him in a rage. Castiel had already made him feel unwanted… he'd be damned if Castiel would make him feel like an emotional, blubbering girl, too.

"Just drop it," Dean warned.

"But…"

"I said no, Cas." Dean was surprised to realize he was so worked up that he was on the verge of shaking. And that, right there, was why he didn't want to get into it with Cas. No way could he start and then be able to stop before it turned into a real mess. Easier to just bury it… and if he could have salted and burned it too, he would have.

The sorrow on Castiel's face almost broke Dean's resolve all the same, so he turned and went into the bathroom to take a shower before he talked himself into a corner.

To Be Continued…


	5. Chapter 5

Even Sam noticed how subdued Castiel was the next day when they were getting ready to head out. While they were putting their duffels in the trunk, Sam leaned over to Dean and whispered, "He looks like shit."

Reluctantly, Dean looked toward Castiel. He was leaning against the wall between room doors. He was still wearing multiple layers of Dean's clothing, giving him an entirely different homeless chic, but that wasn't what Sam meant. Castiel looked haggard, the skin under his eyes shadowed and puffy.

"Did he even sleep?"

"Don't think so," Dean replied as neutrally as he could. "When I went to sleep, he was watching infomercials. Was doing it when I woke up, too."

Rather than face the supremely disappointed look Dean knew Sam was sporting, the older Winchester made a point not to look in Sam's direction as he closed the trunk and called out for Cas to get in the car. Castiel pushed off the wall wearily and trudged over to the Impala. Used to a being so powerful he could take on demons without breaking a sweat, seeing Castiel so dead on his feet was unsettling.

Before Dean could object or argue, Sam climbed into the backseat, which left Castiel to ride shotgun. Dean gave his brother a glower, because no way _that_wasn't premeditated, then got behind the wheel. "First stop, get Cas some of his own clothes."

Castiel looked toward Dean questioningly.

"You're wearing about half the clothes I own right now, Cas," Dean pointed out sardonically. "Not to mention we're not the same size. Trust me, you'll be happier with your own stuff."

There was no response from the angel, and while Dean was content to just drown the silence in music, Sam craned forward before Dean could turn on the tape deck and asked, "You okay, Castiel?" Sometimes it was hard to remember just how recently Sam had been soulless.

"I just remember a little more today than I did yesterday, that's all," Castiel answered thinly. He curled his body into the door, trying to fit it into the small patch of sunlight slanting into the car.

"Yeah… like what?" Sam asked congenially, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

"I remember how wonderful it felt to fly." As he said it, Castiel lifted one hand and rested his fingertips against the glass, staring wistfully up at the sky.

Dean really wanted to keep his grumpy going a little bit longer, but it was hard to hate on a guy who looked so heartbroken. If he wasn't careful, Castiel would get just as good at manipulating Dean with nothing more than a look as Sam was.

Dean glanced in the rearview mirror and was met with big, shiny puppy-dog eyes, which really just proved his point. Dean put the car into reverse more roughly than he meant to. He didn't want to give in to Cas like that… he'd made peace with his little brother practically owning him, but he couldn't let Castiel. Dean couldn't trust Cas not to leave him torn to pieces… he very nearly had, once. Hell, even Sam had ripped him up pretty good, but Dean was already invested wholly in Sam. The last thing he needed was someone else being capable of tearing him down from the inside out. He couldn't do a damn thing about Sam's power over him, but he could still do something about Castiel's.

Maybe. The bitch of it was, Dean had a really annoying, ominous feeling he wasn't going to have much say in the matter. At some point during their convoluted past, he and Castiel had passed the point of no return, and now it was just a fight against gravity.

Because it was easy and it fueled Dean's already foul mood, he blamed that on Cas, too.

They'd barely left the motel parking lot when Castiel reached over and turned on the music.

* * *

><p>Dean would never compare Wal-Mart to Hell, but only because he'd actually been to Hell. He would definitely call Wal-Mart a way station to the pits, though.<p>

They were standing in the men's clothing section, and Dean had a bad feeling it wasn't going to be as easy as turning Sam loose in a bookstore. The angel was standing in the middle of the racks, looking around at the sea of clothes and clearly overwhelmed by the choices. Sam was standing at Dean's side, fixing Dean with a powerful bitchface and possibly trying to kick Dean in the ass with the power of his mind.

"You could help him out, you know," Sam whispered.

"He's not a child, Sam." Dean didn't bother to whisper.

Castiel heard Dean and glanced his way. His expression was completely unreadable, but it made Dean feel like an ass, anyway.

"He's not a fully-functioning adult, either," Sam argued, in a much more considerate volume. Sam's look turned incredulous and judgmental. "What the hell is going on with you two? I mean, it's one thing to give him a hard time when he was full-on angel and capable of putting you in your place when you get out of line, but this…" The weight of Sam's disappointment was palpable. "I just never pegged you for the type to kick a friend when he's down."

Dean never would have pegged Castiel for the type, either. But he couldn't tell Sam that. So instead (and to escape Sam's haughty lecturing), Dean went to where Castiel was standing by the blue jeans.

"Hey, man… let me help."

"I'm not a _child_," Castiel snapped. The heat and embarrassment in Castiel's face made Dean wince. Maybe Sam had a point.

"I know… sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Look… I'll show you the ropes the first time, then you'll know what to do on your own next time, okay?"

Castiel's jaw set, but he didn't resist.

Turned out the angel really did need help. Shirts were easy enough to eyeball on the rack, but Dean knew his waist measurement, and gauging how much slack Cas had in Dean's jeans gave them an idea what size pants Castiel needed. Because Dean hated trips to the dressing room like he hated black magic, they went once with two armfuls of clothes (and as far as Dean was concerned, anything they didn't get in that one trip Cas would just have to do without). Dean steered Castiel to the handicapped stall (because fallen angel counted, in Dean's book) so the two of them could crowd in together. Not until they were shut inside did Dean wonder if anyone had seen two grown men going into a dressing room together. In another second, he didn't care if anyone had.

Castiel stripped out of Dean's borrowed clothes and began to pick through the pile on the floor. Dean offered a few suggestions and tips now and then, but he tried to let Castiel do the choosing on his own. But eventually he noticed that Castiel was only picking up long-sleeve shirts to try on.

"Cas… you're going to need some short-sleeves, too."

"But I'm cold."

"You're standing around in next to nothing. Of course you're cold _now_. But we'll go down south or summer will roll around and you'll be sweating in everything you've picked."

"I won't. I'll never be hot."

It was like fighting with a small child that didn't want to eat his vegetables. "Cas…"

When Castiel picked up yet another long-sleeve shirt (almost just to be obstinate, Dean figured), Dean snapped. "Damnit, Cas! Are you even listening?"

"I just want to be warm again!"

The outburst stopped Dean. He considered Castiel a second, really seeing the way Castiel looked hunkered and drawn in, like he was huddling for warmth. He asked evenly, "What's going on? Why are you so cold all the time?"

Castiel dropped his eyes to the daunting pile of clothing. "I used to be so bright, Dean… I burned so hot and bright humans couldn't even look upon me without being blinded. Now I'm like _this_." His arms dropped limply to his sides. "I never expected that mortality would be _so cold_."

Understanding hit Dean and he went quiet. While Cas shifted through clothes wordlessly, Dean slipped out of the dressing room and roamed the clothing section. He was back a few minutes later and knocked on the door. "It's me, Cas… open the door."

When Castiel did, wearing jeans but no shirt, Dean slipped inside, locked the door, and held out a package of folded shirts. When Castiel looked perplexed as he took them, Dean explained, "Thermals. Wear those under your regular clothes… you'll be hot in no time."

Castiel stared down at the shirts a moment, then seemed to sag. "Thank you, Dean."

"You bet." Dean stared awkwardly at Cas a moment. The angel looked utterly miserable. "Look, I get that this really sucks for you. I mean, it would probably be like me waking up tomorrow as a guinea pig."

A small smile tugged at Castiel's mouth. "It could be worse."

"Oh yeah?" Dean started to smirk. "How?"

"I could have never found you."

That wiped the smirk right off Dean's face. Something, maybe a half-formed joke, stuck in Dean's throat and he worked to clear it. There seemed a real danger of a chick-flick moment busting out, so instead Dean ran from it like hell. He fished a t-shirt off the floor and commented, "You're always scrawnier than I think." He remembered thinking 'damn, he's skinny' when Castiel had taken off his shirt to have the banishing sigil carved into his skin. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

He stepped closer to hold the shirt in his hands up to Castiel's bare chest, gauging its fit. Castiel closed his eyes and dipped his head slightly, swaying into Dean's personal space like he was about to crumple against him.

On reflex, Dean dropped one end of the shirt to bring his hand up to Castiel's shoulder. "Hey… you okay?"

"I don't know how I'm going to do this," Castiel confessed in a timid whisper. Buried in what he said was what he didn't say: 'I don't think I can do this.'

"With help, that's how."

Castiel opened his eyes and looked up, blue eyes meeting green. He looked afraid to hope. "After what you said last night…"

Dean dropped his hand from Castiel's shoulder, but he didn't back up. "Look, whatever… things might not be the same, but I haven't forgotten everything you did for me. For us. For that alone, I owe you. Just… you've got no right to ask for more from me, okay?"

The words seemed to hit like a blow, but Castiel nodded. "I understand, Dean."

"Do you?" Dean asked before he could stop himself.

The angel looked introspective. "I don't _remember_… but I've clearly betrayed your trust. If I could remember how I did that, I'm certain I would deeply regret it."

Maybe, maybe not.

"It was probably just as much my fault," Dean heard himself concede. "I mean… I expected too much. Forgot what you were."

"An angel… but I'm not an angel anymore."

That got just a little too close to something Dean wasn't ready to look at too closely. Dean drew back until he was standing on the other side of the dressing room. Castiel watched him retreat with a wounded look, but he didn't try to stop him. Dean said, "Yeah, well, with luck, you will be again."

Castiel looked troubled by that, oddly enough.

"We'll find a way to fix this."

Unexpectedly, Castiel huffed… the nearest Dean had ever heard to Castiel laughing (because that burnt-out hippie he met in the future didn't count). "I forgot how naïve you humans can be."

That earned Castiel a raised eyebrow. "Naïve, huh? You saying we can't figure this out? Because _that_sounds like a challenge to me. Bring it on, Cas."

Castiel shook his head ruefully and bent down to pick out another shirt… a short-sleeve this time.

To Be Continued…


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry for the short chapter this time… this and the following chapters ended up breaking funny.

* * *

><p>Sam wished he could have been a fly on the wall in the Wal-Mart dressing room, because whatever went on in there had a dramatic effect on the interaction between Dean and Castiel. They weren't BFFs or anything, but the tension from that morning was all but gone. Dean did tell a disjointed story about some kind of fight over shirts that didn't make sense (only Dean and Castiel could manage a fight over shirts), but Sam was just glad the air wasn't so thick he could cut the tension in it with a knife anymore. In that respect, things were really looking up.<p>

As for their journey to South Dakota, they weren't making great progress. For lunch they stopped at a barbeque joint with a tire store on one side and a vacant lot on the other. Spring flowers were blooming, and Dean and Sam came back to the table with trays of food only to find Castiel gone. Later, Sam would tease Dean about how much he freaked out, but at the time it was just nerve-wracking to see that 'parent who lost their toddler in the department store' look take hold of Dean's face as he searched frantically for Castiel.

Sam spotted him out the window standing in the knee-high grass of the vacant lot next to the access road, and Dean was out the door in such a hurry Sam had little choice but to trail along behind.

Castiel was standing with his face to the wind, arms thrown open to embrace the sky and head tilted back to soak up the sun. His eyes were shut in serene calm as the wind threaded through his dark hair and flapped at the ends of coat. The coat had been in the clearance section; Sam had found it and mostly handed it over as a joke. The way Dean's face softened and Castiel's eyes lit up were no joke. It was a white jacket with a zipper in front and a black and grey set of wings printed across the shoulders on the back. Sam couldn't really imagine anyone but Castiel wearing it, so it was no wonder it was in the clearance rack. While Castiel stood with arms outstretched, fingers tickling the underbelly of the sky, the coat flapped and billowed, and it sounded almost like his wings had before the fall. A set of wings even fluttered against his back, even if they were cotton now.

Dean had stomped out after Castiel so full of fright-anger, but when he reached Castiel he'd gone quiet and still. Sam knew why, because he saw what Dean did. For the first time since falling, Castiel looked content. At peace. When Castiel finally noticed the Winchesters' presence, Dean had no response to Castiel's smile other than a headshake and eye roll. The tiny eatery didn't have a patio section, so Dean, Sam, and Castiel sat on the ground in the grass like kids on a picnic to eat their food because it was clear that Castiel liked being outside.

It also seemed to trigger what Sam could only describe as claustrophobia. The confines of the car became a trial for Castiel. Every couple of hours, Dean had to pull over and let Castiel out to stretch his legs. When the inconvenience of always stopping started to grate on Dean's nerves (it was, in a backhanded way, a slight against his baby that Castiel was so eager to get out of her), he asked Castiel what was so wrong with riding in a car. Castiel had just answered that it was like traveling in a slow-moving cage of metal and glass. That didn't go over well; Dean felt obligated to be offended on behalf of his beloved car.

All in all, Sam was the one who suggested they stop early for the day, just so the drama about the car could be put aside. They found a motel, and before going into the front office, Sam turned in his seat and asked if Castiel was okay with the three of them sharing a room. The angel had been getting along pretty well with Sam throughout the day, so it was worth a try. He took it as a good sign when Castiel said he was fine with that.

But, as it turned out, he really wasn't. At least, not on a subconscious level.

Two days without sleep caught up with Castiel in a big way. It wasn't long after their in-room dinner of pizza and breadsticks that Castiel crawled under the covers of one of the two beds and fell fast asleep. When he was sure the angel was out, Dean turned off the television that Castiel had insisted be on. When they were in the car, he insisted on music (not that Dean was complaining). For whatever reason, Castiel abhorred silence. And it wasn't just sound he wanted, but voices. He didn't like songs with long instrumental riffs, and he always turned to channels like CSPAN or QVC, jam-packed with people talking… it didn't matter about what. It was a puzzle put off for later solving.

Sam and Dean were perched on the second bed, unwinding and discussing their sleeping arrangement options now that one bed was taken. That was when the writhing started. Castiel started squirming restlessly in his sleep, drawing the attention of both brothers. Any notion that it might be a happy dream about hot girl angels was crushed when broken whimpers soon accompanied the increasingly desperate shifting under the covers.

Sam had seen it before, or its like, when Dean first got out of Hell. But even before that, Winchesters were no strangers to nightmares. They were both getting that 'should we stop this?' look on their faces when suddenly Castiel started thrashing and screaming.

"_Dean! Deeean!_" The name sounded like it was ripped out of Castiel's lungs, coppery with the hint of blood.

Dean bolted off the second bed and raced to Castiel's in a heartbeat. "Cas! Cas, wake up!" He was trying to get his hands past Castiel's flailing arms to take hold of him and give him a shake. Sam was by his brother's side in an instant, wondering if he ought to try and help restrain the angel.

Then Castiel's eyes flew open. Two things happened in that same moment, and both too fast for either Winchester to fight it. Castiel flung out an arm that wrapped possessively around Dean, surprising the older Winchester so much that he toppled into the bed with Cas. Castiel's second arm struck out at Sam, catching him square in the jaw. An errant leg was not so errant, because almost in the same instant, Castiel kicked Sam in the thigh… hard.

Sam stumbled back a step, not sure which part of his body to cradle first. His vision was sparkling from the blow that had whipped his head around, but Castiel's kick had come too close to the goods for comfort, sending a spike of pain racing up his central nervous system.

"What the hell? Cas!" Dean was trying to fight out of Castiel's grip, but the angel was impossible to escape. He'd wrapped both arms around Dean… one around his middle, the other crossing Dean's chest with his hand settling hard and strong against Dean's shoulder… the same shoulder, in fact, where Dean bore a brand from his rescue from Hell by the very same angel.

Castiel was holding on to Dean tight, like Dean's life (or soul) depended on it, and he yelled at Sam in a blind fury, "You cannot have him!"

Dean was locked in the guy's arms, and Sam was trying to breathe through the urge to vomit. If either of them had any question about whether falling had stolen Castiel's warrior instincts, they definitely had their answer.

It seemed like ten minutes before Dean could get through to Castiel, talking and pleading with him to ease up and come back. Sam dared not get anywhere near the bed until Dean did. Slowly, Castiel's death-grip relaxed and he blinked in confusion at Sam. Finally, he frowned. "Sam… I'm sorry for hurting you. I… I thought you were… that I was…"

"Pulling Dean out of Hell," Sam supplied as he rubbed his jaw experimentally, assessing it for damage.

Castiel still refused to let Dean go, but he nodded against the hunter's shoulder like a child clinging to a teddy bear.

So not so much nightmare as flashback… again.

"It's okay… you didn't really hurt me." At Castiel's impertinent look, Sam amended, "No worse than I'd get banged up on a hunt."

From his position folded in Castiel's arms, Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. "Umm… Cas? Think you could let me go now?"

Briefly, Castiel's hold tightened again. The reluctance was written plainly on his face, but slowly he turned Dean loose. Dean rolled off the bed and turned to look down at Castiel. The angel was curling in on himself, arms seemingly at a loss for what to do without Dean in them.

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed. "Man… that was a bad one."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be… you can't help it." Dean, in that, was the voice of experience. "I'm just glad you didn't clock _me_."

At that, Castiel looked up at Dean. "I would never hurt you, Dean."

And it was something anyone might say to someone they cared about, but somehow Sam and Dean believed it when Castiel said it.

Sam was the one to state the obvious. Until Castiel was more accustomed to his new existence, it would probably be a good idea if Sam got himself a separate motel room whenever they stopped for the night. Clearly, in the clutches of a nightmare, Sam registered as demon to Castiel's muddled senses. But Dean was Dean, and even in an altered state Castiel had only protective instincts toward Dean.

It was a painful way to learn their lesson, but it was one step in many to learning how to integrate Castiel into their everyday lives.

To Be Continued…


	7. Chapter 7

There were a lot of things about being human that bothered Castiel, but one of the worst was how heavy he felt. That one was inescapable. He never stopped feeling like the center of the Earth was trying to swallow him, suck him down right through the Earth's crust, and that moving around just barely kept the inevitable at bay. It reminded him of quicksand, but it covered the entire planet surface. No wonder humans buried their dead… they were pulled that way, anyway. As an angel, Castiel had thought in terms of souls, and saw only the eventual upward journey for most of humanity. In a human body, he only noticed the downward tug.

One time, Castiel stood in a motel parking lot (one of several) and jumped. Straight up into the air, like he was trying to reach something above him. He wanted to cry for how little distance he managed to get between his feet and the gravel, and the time that he was free was so fleeting before that monstrous force was yanking him back down. It was worse for him, because he remembered what the wind felt like in his wings. He remembered flying so fast that, for a millisecond, he seemed to exist everywhere at once.

Now the best he could do was sit in a car that couldn't even outrun the trees on the horizon. He'd sit in the Winchesters' car, Dean driving as fast as human law would allow (sometimes faster), and Castiel would stare at the same tree in the distance and it seemed to laugh at him by keeping up. Near things whipped by in a satisfying blur, but it was a lie, because the things on the edge of earth and sky barely moved.

He hated the car and how constricting it was. He didn't have his wings anymore, but he didn't forget how big they'd been. His self-concept still had wings, and the Impala wasn't nearly enough to hold them. Eventually, Castiel demanded to be let out so he could stretch his phantom appendages. Dean didn't like that he needed that, but that one Castiel couldn't help.

But then, it seemed like Castiel did a lot of things that Dean didn't like. So many, in fact, that half the time Castiel didn't even know what he was doing wrong. Sam was better… he was kind and patient. Dean was kind at times and at other times he wasn't, but Sam always was. If his new human existence made sense, Castiel should probably throw himself into being friends with Sam.

But being human didn't make sense, and Castiel couldn't escape the effect Dean's existence had on him. For reasons he couldn't really explain, Dean was important. He was everything… if only Castiel could remember why.

"Hey, there you are. I've been looking for you."

Castiel turned at the sound of Dean's voice, beyond trying to deny the twinge of hope and ache in his chest when he saw Dean walking toward him. Behind the approaching hunter, Castiel could see the motel they'd stayed at last night with that black trap of a car parked out front. It was late morning, nearly noon… Dean would want to get into the car again and start moving soon. Dean was always moving. Maybe he felt the Earth's pull, too. Maybe he was afraid if he stayed still too long he'd be sucked down.

Castiel could appreciate that, but he did _not_want to get back in the car.

Dean climbed on the old picnic table to sit beside Castiel on the table top, the ancient configuration of wood creaking with the added weight. It rocked faintly side to side, threatening to come apart at the places where it was held together. Castiel knew the feeling.

But even still, having Dean beside him was a balm to his troubled soul.

"Ugh, gross."

Castiel followed Dean's line of sight to the disarray of black feathers on the bench between Castiel's feet. He stared down at the dead black bird, saddened by its curled legs, agape beak, and sightless little eyes.

"A car hit it," Castiel explained. "I was out walking and I saw it crash into a windshield." He reached down and touched one of the sleek black feathers. "I couldn't heal him."

"Uh, well… if the car was going highway speed, there wasn't much you could have done."

How could Castiel explain how much he felt like the bird? He'd crashed, too… but instead of being a ball of bent feathers and curled limbs, he was still alive and the bird was gone. And worst of all… no one mourned the sudden end of its life. He wondered if anyone would've mourned him if the fall had killed him – he wondered if _Dean_would have mourned.

"I remember how easy it used to be to heal. Now I can't even save this one unimportant life." Was every mortal life so insignificant? It seemed that way, but at the same time every bit of Castiel believed that wasn't true about Dean. Dean mattered.

"Okay, you gotta stop being so depressing," Dean chided softly, and he got up off the table and scooped up the dead bird. Castiel could see a flicker of disgust pass over Dean's face, but for Castiel's sake he cradled the bird gently. Castiel watched Dean carry it over to the side and lay it in the grass. He stood, wiped his hands on his jeans, and came back to the picnic table. He stopped in front of Castiel, cocking his head down at him. "Kind of funny, though… I mean, you were all set to wipe out a whole town once. Now you're bummed about a dead bird."

"My perspective has changed drastically," Castiel answered.

Dean snorted, but Castiel really wanted him to _say_something. The world needed more of Dean's voice, his thoughts, his dreams. Castiel used to be able to see them, or some of them, just by looking at him. Now it seemed like there were two Deans… the one who had shone in all his splendor in the eyes of Heaven, and this beautiful lockbox that horded all his wonder so intensely. For the most part, if Dean didn't want something to be seen, it did not show, and Castiel was now powerless to do anything to peer past the shields.

Just one more way the human form was so limited.

"Can I ask you something?" Dean asked.

If it would grace Castiel with Dean's voice, he welcomed it. "Of course."

"What's with the TV addiction? I mean, I would get making up for lost time, but you're not watching any of the _good_stuff. I don't know how many more times I can wake up to an infomercial about the George Foreman."

"I didn't know it was bothering you."

For a while, Dean just watched Castiel. "It's not about the grill, is it?"

He almost smiled. Dean was not half so dense as he pretended to be, and the way he went about showing it was amusing. "No."

Almost with the same care he'd shown the bird, Dean sat down again next to Castiel. "So… what is it?"

He wondered if he could do justice to the truth with so little at his disposal… brittle human words. "As an angel, I could always hear my brothers and sisters. I could feel them, even when I was cut off from Heaven and out of favor with the Host. I was never alone… not once in my whole existence. Until now."

"So you just miss the conversation," Dean muttered.

"I hate being alone."

For a moment, Dean didn't have a response to that. Then, slowly, he said, "And the TV helps?"

He sighed. "It… pales in comparison. When you're willing to talk to me is much more comforting."

Without looking, Castiel could feel Dean tense up next to him. Castiel frowned. He had merely been honest, but that was clearly the wrong thing yet again. He doubted he would ever get used to being human.

Then Castiel felt Dean's hand on his back, sliding up along his spine and coming to rest between his shoulder blades. Castiel relaxed and leaned toward Dean. These rare moments when Dean would touch him were the only instances that made the experience of being human worth it.

"You're not alone, you know," Dean said lowly. The hand began to make tiny, circular motions. Castiel almost hated it, because he already knew how much he would miss it when Dean moved away… Dean always did, eventually. Dean never stayed too close too long, and Castiel could almost remember why. He got the sense Dean was holding himself back because of something Castiel did to hurt him, but that pivotal memory was still out of reach. If he could only remember, he could fix it.

'Like I fixed that bird?' Castiel thought bitterly. What made him think he could make things right with Dean when a simple bird had been too much?

It was unfair how a small human life could be so completely overwhelming. Overcome, Castiel brought up his hands and buried his face in his dirty fingers. They smelled like the dead bird; he needed to wash them. Death and failure were all over him.

"Hey, it's all right," Dean crooned, rubbing Castiel's back harder, the circumference of the circles growing until they encompassed most of Castiel's back. If he thought he could do so without sending Dean away, Castiel would have leaned in and buried his face in Dean's shoulder. He would have lost himself in Dean if he thought he had permission.

Instead, he just sat with his face in his hands and Dean petting him.

"Look… why don't we stick around here for a couple of days? I could do with a break from all the driving."

Inside the bars of his fingers, Castiel started to smile, threadbare and bittersweet. He knew that was a lie. Dean was at his most comfortable in his car on the open road. Dean was offering to stay for Castiel's benefit. He couldn't neglect to let Dean know he knew that and truly appreciated that Dean cared enough to stay for him. "Thank you."

"No problem."

Castiel feared the benediction of touch was about to stop, and he braced himself for the loneliness that would fill its wake.

Dean's hand did stop, but it didn't leave. It stayed, warm and grounding over Castiel's spine, and Dean added, "And lay off the infomercials, huh? I almost called up and ordered the last thing you were watching. Just… talk to me instead. How does that sound?"

"That sounds wonderful."

Dean chuckled, but it sounded kind of awkward. Maybe humans didn't use the word 'wonderful'… or maybe men didn't. Which he was now… it was hard to remember to think of himself as possessing a gender. Even stranger to sort out what behaviors and language were now assigned to him because of it and, conversely, what was considered inappropriate for one of his gender. There were so many weird little rules to follow being human.

Ultimately, Castiel didn't care, because Dean was still holding him away from despair with a light hand on his back. Amazingly, he didn't feel so much like he was drowning the way he had just moments before. He knew that was because of Dean. Castiel had never suspected that a human could have such power in his hands.

Maybe if Dean had come out sooner, he could have saved the bird.

To Be Continued…


	8. Chapter 8

Sam had his cell phone in his hand, thumb hovering over the buttons, when there was a knock at his room door. He already knew who it was, and he glanced at his packed duffel on the bed before he opened the door to greet his brother. "Hey, man, I'm ready to go. Just give me a sec."

"Change of plans," Dean said as he pushed past Sam into the room. "We're sticking around for a few days."

"Uh… okay. What's going on?"

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose then gestured at the door Sam just closed. "We have a manic-depressive ex-angel out there."

"What?" Sam asked in alarm. "What happened?" Sam turned to pull back the curtain and spotted Castiel in his white jacket across the lot, sitting on a rickety picnic table. He looked fine, but then all Sam could see from a distance was the white of the man's back, the black of the wings design, and a dark head of hair. Not really much to judge anyone's mood or disposition.

"A bird died."

Sam turned a confused look on his brother.

"I don't know, Sam… he's having some kind of existential crisis. Guess he remembers just enough about being an angel to realize how screwed he is stuck being one of us." Dean sighed. "I just want to give him a few days."

Truthfully, Sam was really glad to hear that. Not that he wanted to hang around in Ohio particularly, but Dean was making Castiel's health a priority… at least he was acting like he _cared_. "Yeah, sure… sounds good. I was just about to call Bobby and check in with him; we can let him know we're going to be delayed getting to his place."

Sam set his phone to speaker and dialed Bobby's number. Dean moved closer to more easily be part of the conversation.

"Singer," Bobby's voice issued forth.

"Hey, Bobby, it's us," Sam said.

"Hello, Sam. How goes fallen angel duty?"

"That's kind of why we're calling," Dean answered. "We're going to be a little longer making it to your place than we thought. I don't suppose you've found anything that can help Castiel get his angel groove back?"

"Not a damn thing. I've pored over every book I've got on angel lore, but there's nothing in them about how to return a fallen angel to full angel status. Not without there being a place to retrieve their grace, anyway, way y'all did with Anna. But given what we have to work with in Castiel's case… I got squat. Can't say I'm really shocked. Figure reinstating a fallen angel's mojo isn't the kind of thing us puny little humans can manage. Now, normally I'd start looking to turning to the _other_angels for help…"

"But Castiel's the first sign of any of the angels we've seen in weeks, and he's not even an angel anymore," Sam said.

"Have you heard anything about the other angels, Bobby?" Dean asked.

"Wish I had some news for you boys. There hasn't been a damn thing on the map. No angels, no demons, nothing. Has Castiel remembered anything we can use?"

"No. He still has no idea what happened upstairs… just keeps saying 'it's over'," Dean said.

"That's _vague_," Bobby groused.

"Yes, and more than a little disturbing," Sam added.

"Let's see… possible end of life as we know it? Yeah, I'd call that disturbing," Bobby growled. "But I did have an idea."

Both brothers perked up.

"Whenever you boys do get here, might be we could use hypnosis on Castiel, way we did on Anna. He might not be able to get at his memories, but maybe we can dig 'em out."

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Dean beat him to it. "No."

"Dean…" Bobby started.

"No, Bobby. Cas is having a rough enough time of it just with the shit he remembers on his own. Nobody's going in there and digging up crap he's not ready for yet."

While Sam agreed with Bobby that Castiel was their best avenue for finding answers, he was proud of Dean.

"We might not have a choice, Dean," Bobby argued. Sam was glad Bobby said it so he wouldn't have to.

Dean scowled. "If it all starts going to Hell in a hand basket and we still don't have a fucking clue what's going on – if it's the absolute last resort – fine, but so far there's _nothing happening_. Right now, the only thing out of the ordinary we have to bitch about is peace on Earth. You put Cas under, kick around in his brain, and you could be seriously screwing him up for no reason. That's not going to happen unless there's no alternative." Read: Dean wasn't going to let it happen.

"Okay, okay, Dean." Bobby sounded just as much irritated as he did amused. As proof of the latter, he chuckled. "Been awhile… I forgot how protective you could get over that angel."

A constipated look crossed Dean's face. Sam had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

"Where are you boys, anyway?"

"Uhh… just into Ohio, I think," Sam answered. At the pause that followed, Sam continued, "We haven't been making very good time. Castiel doesn't like being in the car."

"Well, it's just as well," Bobby said. "If I had anything helpful to us, that would be one thing, but I don't. Might as well take your time… you'd just be getting here so we could all sit around the kitchen table and stare at each other."

"Okay…" Sam said in surrender. "You'll let us know if you come up with anything?"

"When haven't I?" Bobby countered drolly, that mixture of gruff and kindly teasing the Winchesters knew for affection from the father and father-like figures in their lives.

Sam rolled his eyes and ended the call. Then he looked up at his brother. Dean's gaze was fixated on the closed curtains, contemplating the angel outside.

"Anything I can do?" Sam offered.

"_I_don't even know what to do," Dean griped.

Sam moved to the dresser and put his phone down. "You know, all things considered, Castiel is lucky."

"Wow, you have a crappy definition of luck," Dean quipped. Then he hesitated. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if this had to happen to him, at least he's with us." 'You', Sam really thought, but he was worried that might be a little too touchy-feely for Dean to handle. Really emotional stuff turned Dean into a flight risk, and Castiel needed Dean too much right now.

Without responding to that beyond a grunt, Dean gave Sam a slap on the arm and left the room. Sam smiled after him. All in all, Castiel got lucky.

To Be Continued…


	9. Chapter 9

Dean did his best to put aside most of his grudge against Cas and be a little more approachable to the former angel… for Castiel's sake. Dean didn't forget or forgive what Castiel had done right after Sam went into the cage, but he tried to shove it into a corner of his mind and turn his back on it. He'd pledged to be an anchor for Castiel, and he would do that. Castiel deserved that much for having been the champion of humanity while the rest of the universe seemed dead set on watching mankind burn.

It was late. They'd parted ways with Sam almost two hours ago outside Dean and Castiel's motel room. They'd met for dinner at a nearby restaurant where Castiel took a surprising liking to curly fries. He'd also done an admirable job of acting like he hadn't been on the cusp of a meltdown earlier that day. Dean was actually kind of proud of him for that. God forbid, but if being human turned out to be a permanent affliction for Castiel, coping skills would be indispensable. No doubt Sam would have called it 'repressing and denying' skills, but Dean didn't care what anyone wanted to call it, as long as it worked.

Dean was reclined on his bed, watching an episode of Dr. Sexy, MD, when he heard the shower shut off. Not really thinking about it until after he'd done it, he sat up and turned off the television.

Castiel came out of the bathroom along with a cloud of steam (he took unbelievably hot showers), naked but for a towel wrapped around his hips. He was getting better at bathing. The first time – when Dean had explained how the taps worked, the general idea of how to wash, and given Cas a 'godspeed' shove into the bathroom – the angel had taken more than an hour in the bathroom, the shower running the entire time. And he'd come out with his hair tacky from shampoo he hadn't quite washed out. Dean drew a line at sponge baths or getting into the shower with Cas for a tutorial, so he just told him what he needed to do differently and sent him back in. It was like teenage girls trying on prom dresses in a store dressing room: Castiel came back out fifteen minutes later, and Dean gave him a good once-over and declared he'd passed inspection. Since then, Castiel tended to personal hygiene on his own.

While Castiel was standing in front of the mirror, barefoot and his skin pink from the hot water, Dean walked up behind him. He noticed how scruffy Castiel was starting to look. Sorting out how to shower on his own was one thing, shampoo and washcloths weren't in the least bit dangerous, but…

"Looking pretty furry there, Cas."

Castiel looked up at Dean's reflection in the mirror. "What?"

Dean stepped forward and peered more closely at Castiel's grizzled jaw. It was weird to see Castiel with the start of a beard. "I'd say it's time you shaved."

While Castiel curiously ran his fingers over his hair growth (like he was only then really noticing it was there), Dean filled the sink with water and dug out his razor and shaving cream. Then he turned to face Castiel. "I think you should let me do it this first time, just so you get the idea before I give you a razor."

"Very well."

Dean put some shaving cream on his hand then smeared it over Castiel's chin, jawline, and throat. It was odd doing it to someone else… it had been a long time since Dean shaved anyone but himself. Probably fifteen years, the last time Dad broke his right hand on a hunt and wasn't good for shit with his left hand.

Castiel stood perfectly still while Dean lathered up his face. Then Dean washed his hands, took his razor in hand, and hopped up to sit on the counter beside the sink. "Come here," Dean beckoned. When Castiel stepped closer, Dean guided him with a hand on his wet side to stand right in front of him between Dean's knees.

"Okay… important thing when you do this on yourself is to be careful about how much pressure you use. You don't want to slit your own throat. Just, start off easy and press down harder until it feels right."

"I don't know what feels right," Castiel pointed out needlessly.

"That's what I'm going to show you. Now stand still."

Dean urged Castiel a little closer then brought the razor up to the angel's throat. With a thumb, he nudged at the underside of Castiel's chin. Castiel tipped his head back obediently, eyes never leaving Dean's face while Dean took the first careful swipe with the razor over Castiel's throat. He washed off the razor and stubble and went back for another swipe. He slid the razor's edge over the top of Castiel's adam's apple, watching it quiver a little. "That okay?"

"Yes."

Dean nodded, rinsed, and resumed his work. Castiel stood perfectly still, framed between Dean's legs, and Dean was struck by how vulnerable Castiel was at that precise moment. He was wearing nothing but a towel and had his throat exposed to Dean, trusting him with a razor against his flesh. Castiel of all people, who knew what Dean had done with a razor, should have better sense than to let Dean with a sharp weapon anywhere near him. But there wasn't even a hint of caution or trepidation in Castiel. He watched Dean intently, conveying nothing but absolute trust while Dean dragged the razor, catching and cutting, across the hair on the soft skin of his throat.

He doubted anyone else could know him so completely the way Cas did, everything good and bad, and still have so much faith in him that they'd let down their guard so totally. Castiel wasn't impervious anymore… he was as breakable as any of them. He could bleed just as easily. But he still didn't hesitate to put himself in Dean's hands… even when one of those hands hefted a razor with too much expertise.

It was dizzying and humbling, and that shocked the hell out of Dean. He didn't think having someone trust him so implicitly would be so heady.

Dean finished on Castiel's throat and bade, "Look straight at me." There was a rumble to his voice he hadn't expected.

Castiel did as Dean commanded, and Dean was surprised at the intensity of the look in Castiel's eyes when he was looking at it head-on. It was like being in the crosshairs, and Dean swallowed thickly.

This wasn't the first time he'd taught someone to shave. He remembered teaching Sam. But that lesson hadn't felt so charged. Not like it did now. Dean imagined he could feel the heat coming off Castiel's bare skin, still gasping from the scalding hot water of the shower. And the way Castiel stared had always been electric… that hadn't changed with his falling.

Dean cleared his throat and moved to start shaving Castiel's right cheek. He paused when he saw Castiel do a full-body shiver. "You cold?" He probably should have thought of that earlier and let Castiel put some clothes on instead of asking the guy with an internal thermostat set to crazy high to stand around wet and (mostly) naked.

"No."

Dean eyed Cas a second, dubious, but Castiel merely stood there and waited for Dean to continue. He made no move to go and get his clothes. So after a slight pause, Dean pressed on.

Shaving him, Dean found contours in Castiel's face he'd never noticed just looking at it. He never paid much attention before to where his cheeks dipped or rose into his cheekbones. Or to the soft sweep from the corners of his lips to his ears. The hard edge of his jaw. The shape of his chin or the way it met his bottom lip. "Do this," Dean pulled his lips into his mouth. Castiel copied him, and Dean saw to the narrow strip between Castiel's nose and upper lip.

Much too soon, Dean was done and sitting there a moment to survey his work. Castiel hadn't yet looked at himself once in the mirror just past Dean's shoulder; his eyes stayed completely on Dean. Maybe it was the steam from the bathroom getting to him, but Dean didn't mind all that much. Though he was uncomfortably hot… next time, he'd crack a window before Cas got out of the shower and turned the place into the Amazon rain forest.

Dean put aside his razor, picked up a washcloth, and wiped the stray bits of shaving cream off Castiel's face. Technically, it was something Cas could have done himself, but Dean felt like he was seeing through a mission to its conclusion. He'd come this far and he had to finish.

When he was done, he smiled. "How's that?" Although Dean had his own opinions, either way. He'd noticed before that Castiel, the angel, rocked a permanent five o'clock shadow. Clean-shaven, he looked younger. How much of the wisdom he'd always seen when he looked at Castiel was really just Cas's ancient knowledge behind Novak's eyes? Because the human, stripped of angel dressings, looked so much younger.

Castiel still didn't look at himself in the mirror. He seemed to gauge his appearance by the look on Dean's face. "I like it very much. Thank you, Dean."

"Don't mention it," Dean replied, then he shifted to get off the counter. That was when he realized Castiel had a hand on his thigh. He couldn't for the life of him remember when it had gotten there. Dean glanced down. It wasn't the hand he saw. His eyes widened when he discovered that Castiel was visibly aroused. The towel didn't hide much.

He sucked in a breath and shot a look up into Castiel's vivid blue eyes. "Uh… Cas…"

"Yes, Dean."

That gravelly voice did something to Dean's insides. For a split-second, it was nice. Then Dean was in panic mode. For one crazy moment, he wanted to curl his hands around Castiel's hips and draw him closer. Instead, he put his hands on Castiel's bare chest and pushed him away just enough to slide off the counter and move a step away. "You, ah… you shouldn't…"

Castiel looked down, considering his traitorous body and its reaction that had freaked Dean out so much. He didn't look embarrassed so much as wearied. "I apologize. My body's response was not under my control. I'm sorry I've upset you."

"Yeah, totally not cool, dude."

"I understand… I know you have no interest in men."

"It's not that," Dean said before he could stop it. When he realized what he said, he wanted to kick himself. Cas looked up, maybe nursing a kernel of hope, and Dean shook his head. "I just… I can't."

"Of course."

That should have been that, but Dean hated how readily Castiel accepted it. He actually thought the guy might fight him a little. Was that all the effort Castiel was willing to put into it? Did he just not want it enough to try?

Then Dean realized what he was _thinking_and took another step away. "It's fine, Cas, just… you know. Next time you're in the shower, maybe you should try working off a little tension… you know what I mean?"

"I believe so."

And even if he didn't, no way was Dean about to explain the mechanics of that one to him.

"Good. Go, uh, go ahead and put some clothes on, then. I just need to hit the head."

Before Castiel could say anything in response, Dean had sidled around Castiel and closed the bathroom door, gratefully putting himself on one side of the door and Castiel on the other.

And he most definitely, certainly was _not_turned on in the least.

To Be Continued…


	10. Chapter 10

Dean prided himself on being a light sleeper. As a hunter, it served him well.

It wasn't such a great thing when he was rooming with a fallen angel that suffered from chronic nightmares. When Castiel cried out hoarsely in the night, Dean was already out of bed and hurrying to his side before he was even fully awake.

"Cas…"

Like before, Castiel reached out and grabbed on to Dean. Knowing to expect it, Dean managed to not topple on top of him this time. Instead, Dean took a quick seat on the bed alongside Castiel, arranging himself as best he could with the limited range of motion that Castiel's grip would permit him. Castiel was panting and sweaty; Dean almost thought he could feel Castiel's heart racing through his chest. Dean just let himself be clutched tight in the angel's arms, waiting for Cas to come back to himself.

Eventually, he did. "D-Dean…" he croaked, though his hold on Dean did not ease.

"Yeah… it's all right… I'm here. You're okay."

Castiel's arms loosened a little… enough for Dean to snake out an arm and turn on the nightstand lamp. He almost wished he hadn't, because the light let him see just how shitty Castiel looked. The darkness had been hiding a lot. Being seen seemed to catch Castiel off guard, and there was no masking his honest state in that split second when all Dean saw was an ashen face, sweaty brow, and eyes so distressed and tired they hardly seemed human.

Then, in the next second, Castiel was wresting control of all that Dean had seen… too late, but Dean could understand going ahead and covering up anyway.

Castiel was steadying his breathing and his muscles were letting go their panic lock. Dean would like to just give him a pat on the back and get back to bed (since Castiel hadn't been sleeping well lately, that meant Dean hadn't been sleeping well; he was starting to feel pretty ragged), but he'd sworn to be a better friend than that. Even if Castiel hadn't been such a great one himself over the past couple of years. Dean was just going to have to be the bigger man.

"Feel better?"

Castiel nodded faintly and let his arms fall away from Dean… though Dean would swear it was the last thing Cas wanted to do. For a moment, Dean didn't know how he felt about it. It was a toss-up between relieved and bereft, and really, what the fuck?

Cas was pulling away from being plastered to Dean, shifting uncomfortably a few inches to the right. That felt better-worse, too. 'The lack of sleep must be really getting to me,' Dean thought.

"Uh… want to talk about it?" Dean offered stiltedly. He really sucked at this caring and sharing shit. If Cas didn't try to crater Sam's face in whenever he was woken from a nightmare, it would be so much better to have Sam on hand for this crap. But Sam, big girl that he was, valued his teeth actually being in his mouth.

"I'm sorry to have woken you."

It was an out, in a way, and Dean should have jumped on it. Instead, he sighed and stayed put. "It's not your fault, okay? Trust me, nightmares I get. You could say I'm a pro." He studied Castiel a while in the dim light. The guy looked like hell.

Hell.

A gut-wrenching thought occurred to him. "Is it always the same nightmare?"

Knowing damn well what Dean was thinking, Castiel didn't even act like he didn't understand. He just closed his eyes. "Yes."

"When you saved me from the pit."

"Yes." Just the memory made Cas shiver. "I can see you, and I'm fighting through waves of demons to reach you, and I go to grab you… then I wake up and I don't have you."

Huh. Could the solution really be that simple? And, oh yeah, life hated him.

"Would it help if I slept in the bed with you?" Dean offered. After all, the only sleep Castiel hadn't jarred from with a scream had been the first one, when Dean had been sharing his body heat. As soon as Dean left him on his own was when he woke up flailing.

Castiel's eyes darted up to Dean's face, and the 'god, yes' in his eyes was enough to make Dean feel like a dipshit for not figuring it out sooner. He almost demanded to know why Cas didn't just _ask_, but that one was pretty self-explanatory. Like Dean would have done anything different in Castiel's place. It was a philosophy Dean knew well: better to suffer than ask for help and look weak.

Either him and Cas were more alike than Dean thought, or maybe Cas had been hanging around Dean too long.

"After what happened earlier…" Castiel said haltingly, "I didn't think you would want me near you."

"I'm not that big a dick, dude," Dean countered, trying for joking but it seemed lost on Castiel. "You just… you didn't know any better, couldn't help it, new to your own body and everything. I know that. It didn't mean anything."

"But I –"

"_It didn't mean anything_," Dean reiterated.

That time, Castiel got the hint. He went quiet, lips pressed into a thin line, then he nodded slowly. "I would appreciate your company very much, yes."

With that, Dean moved to stand up and discovered Castiel had one hand fisted in the hem of his shirt. Castiel let go abruptly, like he hadn't known he'd been clinging until Dean's movement caused him to tug on the material. Deciding to play it off as no big deal, Dean didn't comment on it as he drew back the covers and slid in next to Castiel.

The angel shifted closer – as close as he dared, but clearly not as close as he'd like. That, at least, was familiar. Castiel had never had any concept of personal space.

"Just…"

"Yes, Dean?"

"You're never allowed to tell Sam about _any_of this. If you do, you're sleeping in the car."

Castiel's voice had the hint of a smile. "I won't tell Sam."

What was that saying about small mercies?

"You want to try getting back to sleep?"

Castiel tensed up. "You can if you wish."

Which meant Dean wasn't getting to go back to sleep yet, either. But then, it wasn't like Dean didn't have a shitload of experience staying up to chase away nightmares… he'd perfected the technique when Sam was a kid.

But all the same, he still felt out of his depth when Castiel folded forward, back bowed, and buried his face in his hands. His elbows propped themselves on his spread knees, but the placement seemed precarious (like Cas might just fold up and collapse into a heap at any moment). The angel was damn near curled in a ball by the end of it all.

Dean watched, wide-eyed. "Hey… come on, Cas…" Dean reached out, froze uncertainly, pulled back, then he reached out again with renewed determination and put his hand on Castiel's back.

"Why did this happen?" Castiel asked.

Dean really hoped that was rhetorical.

"Was it an attack on Heaven? Are my brothers and sisters on Earth suffering like I am?"

Whoa… Dean knew it had to suck, but _suffering_?

"Or is it only me? Am I being punished?"

Searching for the right words, Dean stalled by tracing his palm absently up and down the curve of Castiel's back. "I really wish I knew, Cas. Though you're asking the same questions all humans ask themselves at some point. Maybe that's not very comforting, but it is damn human."

The angel huffed out a hollow laugh and took a long, deep breath.

"Bet you can understand now why I could never believe in God," Dean teased.

At that, Castiel sat up and turned to look at Dean. "I thank God every day, Dean."

Dean gaped. "Thank him… for _what_?"

"You."

Dean's jaw snapped shut.

"I don't mean that in a way that will make you uncomfortable. I mean that I realize that as hard as this has been, it would have been much harder if I hadn't fallen close to you." Castiel cocked his head, and Dean couldn't help smiling at the twinkle of witticism that suddenly sparkled in Castiel's blue eyes. "And I very much doubt the place I ended up falling was a coincidence."

That surprised a chuckle out of Dean. "Okay, you've got a point. But I doubt that was God's doing."

Castiel's wit vanished, replaced with that confused cocker spaniel look, complete with tilted head.

"I'll bet falling out of the sky right outside our motel was because of _you_."

"I know I tried," Castiel conceded. "Tried and longed with everything in me to find you… but it's _falling_, not _flying_. That I found you suggests I had help."

"So you're telling me that after everything you did trying to keep this planet in one piece, God decides to cast you down here with the mud monkeys? Maybe Raphael and his goons had it coming, but _you_, of all angels? I don't buy it. We're just going to have to agree to disagree on this one," Dean said with a smirk.

For a second, Castiel looked like he wanted to say something else, then he thought better of it. He settled back against the headboard, his left arm and leg barely brushing against Dean. Dean suspected it was intentional, but he let it go.

A silence fell over the pair of them, and it wasn't exactly awkward but not entirely comfortable, either. Dean remembered when it used to be. When Castiel was pretty much family…. before Castiel cut and ran on him, making his choice between Dean and Heaven very clear.

"So, uh… how much do you remember, exactly? I mean, you remember pulling my ass out of Hell, obviously."

Castiel frowned in consternation. "Since I don't remember what I've forgotten, I couldn't estimate how much it accounts for any total percentages of what is still missing."

"Cas…" Dean groaned with a roll of his eyes.

"But… some things I remember a great deal about. Others are vague. My clearest memories are those that pertain to you. But even then, I know I'm missing pieces. Very important pieces." Castiel turned and pinned Dean with an expectant, penetrating stare. And there it was, that damn year when Castiel couldn't be bothered to drop in and see how Dean was doing after his whole fucking world was ripped away, even when Dean had pleaded for him.

But if Castiel was waiting for Dean to remind him, he'd have to wait a hell of a long time. After a protracted silence, Castiel obviously realized that. The look of disappointment was plainly written in his features, but Dean had a disappointment of his own rotting away in the dark corners of his mind. Welcome to the human race, Cas.

"My memories aren't as disorganized as they were when I first fell. I can sort through them better now. But I still don't remember the exact events that led to my fall." He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the headboard… and maybe leaning just a little bit into Dean. It had the look of slipping back into sleep.

Trying to encourage it, Dean scooted down to lie flatter on the mattress. Castiel sank downward with him, almost unknowingly mirroring Dean's movement.

"I know it probably can't compare to being a badass angel, flying around getting your smite on," Dean said in a bedtime-story-soft voice, "but it isn't _all_bad being one of us, is it?"

"Hmm… no, not all bad. There are aspects of being human I enjoy." Castiel wiggled down until he was lying in the bed, head on the pillow. His eyes drifted shut. His voice thinned out as he teetered on the fence between awake and slumber. "I like this," he mumbled, turning on to his side and letting a hand blindly find Dean's shoulder. Not the branded shoulder, but somehow it didn't seem to make much difference. Dean still felt the touch like lightning.

Castiel's breathing evened out soon after.

Dean took longer getting back to sleep, lying awake all too aware of the angel next to him and thinking about how much he wished he could just wipe away that fucking year. More than ever, it felt like a huge freaking roadblock to _something_Dean couldn't even name.

To Be Continued…


	11. Chapter 11

A couple of days in Ohio turned into a week. Castiel seemed to be doing pretty well, and Dean obviously wasn't eager to test his limits for no practical reason (Sam also suspected that Dean was still worried Bobby had a hypnotist at the Salvage Yard waiting to pounce on Castiel the minute they arrived). Some tiny town in Ohio seemed as good a place as any to linger for a while, since there was still no sign of supernatural activity and not so much as a rabid raccoon for the brothers to hunt.

They started playing a game. Every day, Dean would ask Castiel to tell them one new thing he remembered. Sometimes it was pretty awesome, like what dawn on the Virgin Islands smelled like. Sometimes it was something small. Once, it was the exact location of a freckle on Dean's inner thigh. Sam choked on his drink and asked how, exactly, Castiel knew _that_. Sam wondered if he was finally going to learn that yes, in fact, there _had_been a thing between Dean and Cas all along. Castiel just looked imperiously at Sam and said, "I remade Dean, cell by cell… I could tell you the precise location of his spleen, if you'd like", which Dean thought was funny. Go figure.

By quizzing Castiel, piecemeal, about what he remembered, they got a pretty decent measure of his mental state. He still understood and spoke an impressive number of languages. The dead ones he stumbled over a little, which told them that he probably didn't remember _every_human language like he used to, but then what human brain could hold all that? General knowledge about the world and the things in it were pretty much under Castiel's purview, but while he remembered more and more every day, he also forgot just as much. Like an infant's brain shoring up some neural pathways and abandoning others, the areas of expertise Castiel wasn't actually using kind of slipped away from him. One morning he might remember the migratory pattern of a species of finch in England, but by the next morning it would have unraveled in his head while the benefits of orange juice and bagels for breakfast over coke and ding dongs would set up permanent residence.

Sam figured that when it was all said and done, Castiel would be that freaky Jeopardy grand champion who blew all challengers out of the water but who never quite pinged to the general population as normal.

Not that the Winchesters were very good judges or measures of normal.

Castiel's memories of Heaven remained stubbornly spotty. It was like Heaven and his time there were part of a movie he'd watched once a long time ago. He could recall what it was like being an angel (such as how it felt to fly), but the external details were elusive. He remembered his brothers and sisters, but he couldn't recall all their names (but, then again, Castiel had _thousands_of them, so it might not be so reprehensible for him to not know them anymore). He remembered there had been a conflict among the angelic ranks, but he didn't know what became of it or how it ended.

While he was glad to see Castiel starting to adjust to human existence, Sam was uneasy about the incompleteness of the very memories that could give them some desperately-needed answers. There was something almost deliberate about the obfuscation pattern. Sam didn't suspect Castiel of hiding anything, of course… rather, that things had been withheld from Castiel. But by whom? And why?

Sam applied himself to masking his disappointment about the questions Castiel couldn't answer. Instead, he concentrated on a past-time he'd never even told Dean he had. Dean and Castiel watching. Sam would bet money that neither one of them realized just how damn much they communicated even when they weren't talking. They'd gotten pretty fluent at it during the Apocalypse, but by the time Sam had his soul back, that had changed dramatically. Dean was combative and short-tempered, Castiel was aloof and unresponsive, and Sam was just in the middle totally clueless.

But that familiar give-and-take between hunter and angel was coming back. As Castiel found himself a place in the Winchester dynamic, the duo started to speak that wordless language again.

It was almost like old times, but not quite. Sam could see that every time he asked Castiel to remember something that happened within the last two years, Dean would stiffen and go quiet. He was waiting for Castiel to remember _that_. And the worst part was that Sam could tell that Castiel knew exactly what Dean was thinking. That ugly, monstrous thing that had shattered their friendship before was still lying unaddressed between them, unresolved and unfinished business like nobody's business. It was festering for want of Castiel's ability to recall it. Dean remembered that unforgivable slight. Castiel knew there was a slight that he should remember. The tension it left between Dean and Castiel was like the Berlin Wall.

Sam sat and watched and wondered how long they could keep it up before the wall came down.

And if Sam knew his brother, the wall wouldn't be taken apart brick by brick so much as come crashing down. In his opinion, it was well fucking overdue.

* * *

><p>The room was sweaty with the heat from Castiel's recent shower. The water was beading on the angel's bare skin as he stood in front of Dean with nothing on but a towel, wrapped low around his narrow hips. It was too humid in the motel room for the water on Castiel to dry, casting a glistening sheen to his entire body. Dean sat on the counter with his knees parted so Castiel could stand between them. He stood close… Castiel-close. That unique non-distance Dean defined as Castiel's. It was so close that the heat from Castiel's skin translated through the foggy air and warmed Dean's body. Dean felt it on his bare chest… he wasn't sure where or when he'd lost his shirt, but just as well… between the shower steam and Castiel's hot skin filling the room, it was sweltering.<p>

Castiel was watching Dean intently, unblinking, angelic. It was that other-worldly ability Cas had to stare right through every defense mechanism and cover Dean depended on like a life-line and see right to his core. See that unworthy, insecure, neurotic, worry-ridden creature Dean really was inside, the true self he compensated for in life so fiercely that he seemed the exact opposite in every respect. To everyone but Castiel. Cas peeled back the bullshit with a look, and Dean could find himself standing in a room with Cas but laid fucking bare and waiting for the revulsion and pity to come swooping in because his cover was blown and Castiel would _know_… know how pathetic the real Dean Winchester really was. But, as always, Castiel stared and saw and fucking _revered_.

That reverence and complete approval filled guileless blue eyes, and Dean's breath caught in his throat. "I see you, Dean," Castiel growled. His voice held a hint of that reverberating power of Heaven, just held in check from blowing out Dean's eardrums and the windows with a human conduit. "I know you. I know your soul. You were worth fighting through the bowels of Hell for." Castiel leaned in closer. "You are worth the fight still. You deserve to be saved. I see _you_…" Castiel's hand came to rest on Dean's jean-clad thigh. The flavor to Castiel's voice shifted… no less powerful, but slightly less ecclesiastic. The look in his eyes went from worship to wolfish. "I want to see you." His eyes finally left Dean's to rake lasciviously down his body. The towel did not conceal Castiel's erection… but he didn't act like he was trying to hide it.

Dean's stomach jumped and his hand moved on reflex. He was sure he meant to catch Castiel's wrist, hold the hand on his thigh in place so it couldn't travel somewhere Dean was sure he couldn't handle without flying apart, but instead Dean's fingers curled around the top of Castiel's towel. He pulled, heart racing to see if it would result in Castiel being brought closer to him or the towel coming off all together.

There was no warning, or too little, but Dean was pretty sure no amount of time would have been enough. Castiel was looming perilously close into his personal space one second, then the next his mouth was on Dean's. Dean surged up into the kiss, deepening it before he had more than a chance to even blink. Castiel matched him in intensity without missing a beat. There was no gentle teasing of lips or shy darts of tongues. It was mouths crushed together, tongues dueling, teeth clashing, and not enough air to breathe.

Castiel pressed forward, and Dean had to lean back or actually find a way to become part of the same space Castiel occupied. He leaned back toward the fogged mirror, his free hand reaching up to curl around Castiel's neck to keep him from escaping the kiss.

The angel's hand left Dean's thigh and cupped his crotch. The sensation of Cas's hand on Dean's hard-on, even through his pants, was electric. Dean's hips jerked up into the touch and made Dean groan into Castiel's mouth.

Then everything was hot skin pressing together, hands gripping, tongues exploring, bodies colliding.

That was when dreams gave way to consciousness.

Dean woke slowly, fighting to hold on to the dream. Some of it was still lingering. The warm press of skin, the solidness of a body under his hands, the toe-curling arousal coursing through his blood and building in the pit of his stomach... Dean wanted it. In that drowsy state free of doubt, he _craved_it. And some of it came with him from his dreams. So fantastic and intoxicating he would gladly drown in it.

Dean's hips rolled lazily, sending a jolt of pleasure through him at the friction against his stiff dick. It was awesome.

Then Dean's eyes snapped open and reality came crashing in around him.

Oh, _fuck_. Arousal was quickly consumed by panic. He lay perfectly still, letting his mind race as he took stock of the situation.

Dean was in bed with Castiel, as had been typical since discovering it kept Castiel's nightmares at bay. Usually, Dean stayed on his side and Castiel, mostly, stayed on his. Once in a while a hand or foot would stray, usually on Castiel's part (unconsciously reaching out for Dean in real life while in his dreams he reached for him in the pit), but it wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as Dean had initially feared it would be. A couple of mornings had been decidedly awkward… Dean had stirred to the sensation of Castiel spooned against his back and sporting morning wood. Castiel had apologized profusely each time it happened, and Dean assured him it was just a guy thing that couldn't be helped, so Castiel didn't have to feel ashamed or embarrassed… but what Dean didn't say was how, for just a fleeting moment on each occasion, he'd been _excited_. At least until his brain kicked in.

But this wasn't Castiel's new human body being unruly on him. This was Dean, lying pressed against Castiel's side with one arm and leg thrown over the guy and pretty much dry-humping him in his sleep. Castiel could be forgiven for not knowing any better, but what the hell? If it were physically possible, Dean would kick his own ass. He couldn't even claim he'd been dreaming of a hot chick, because he hadn't been. He'd been dreaming about Castiel and _enjoying_it.

_Retreat_.

Dean tried to ease his bent leg off of Castiel, and all it really did was let Dean know that he wasn't the only one having a morning happy problem. Cas was sporting an impressive one of his own, which just made it twice as bad, because that meant they were both all hot and bothered in the same bed together. This was just getting worse with every passing second. Dean's heart was racing… first from the tail-end of his rudely-ended dream, then with the flight reflex that went into full blown freak-out mode as soon as Dean had his wits about him.

Dean carefully lifted his head off Castiel's chest to glance up and check on his living pillow. If he could slip out of bed without waking Castiel, he could just pretend this never happened.

He froze when he was met with two intense blue eyes watching him, pupils dilated and telling.

For a second, Dean's eyes widened and his jaw dropped.

Then Dean was jerking out of Castiel's reach like he'd been scalded. He almost flew off the bed entirely, but at the very edge he stopped and turned to sit staring down incredulously at Castiel. The angel looked… well, fuck… _sexy_. He had no right to look like that to Dean.

"Cas, what… what the hell?" Dean wiped at the sweat on his brow. "How long have you been lying there awake?"

"Since you said my name," Castiel answered haughtily. Sheer terror was doing a good job of tempering Dean's hard-on, but Castiel's looked like it was going to stubbornly stick around, and that just figured. How the hell was Dean supposed to read Cas the riot act when he was like…

Wait… Dean had said Castiel's name?

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_!

"You were just going to… god damnit, Cas!" Dean hissed.

Unexpectedly, Castiel's lusty look turned _pissy_. He downright glowered at Dean. It had that old familiar 'I can throw you back in Hell' fire to it. Dean should have been glad to see some of that old-school Castiel, but instead he got angry to a whole new level. Because Castiel wasn't apologizing anymore. He was _daring_ Dean to challenge him. Repentant Castiel he could handle, but Castiel riled up and ready to stand up to him over _this_…

Without waiting for another word, Dean got out of bed and threw on the first clothes he could find in his duffel: sweat pants, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes. He dressed, stormed past Castiel without giving him a look, and left the motel room.

Then he started running.

To Be Continued…


	12. Chapter 12

Generally, Dean was a 'run when something's chasing you' person. And usually, enough stuff chased him on a regular basis that he got a decent amount of exercise. But lately, the only thing that chased after him had been a ballsy squirrel making a grab for a peanut M&M he dropped in the parking lot (as if Dean was going to bend down and reclaim _that_after it had rolled around on the filthy pavement… it wasn't his last one or anything). John Winchester's legacy lived on, because when Dean grudgingly conceded he hadn't been getting his allotment of physical conditioning, he took to pounding the pavement in a good old-fashioned run.

A run was just what Dean needed right now. It also had two ancillary benefits… it put some distance between him and Castiel, and it gave him some time to sort through the jumble of thoughts racing through his mind.

But there was way too much to tackle, and his body gave out before he reached any clarity. Dean had to stop when his lungs were burning and his side balled up in a stitch. He staggered to a halt along the road, braced his hands on his knees, and gulped for air. His head was pounding (he'd been in such a hurry to leave, he didn't even get a drink of water), but it wasn't enough to drown out the thought repeating over and over in his brain.

_He'd had a sex dream about Castiel_.

Even though his body was ready to collapse, he turned back the way he'd come and started running back toward the motel. He would work this out of him, like a toxin he could sweat out his pores. He'd run his ass off until he turned back fucking time and never woke up halfway to sex with Castiel.

Of course, Dean failed. All he did was give himself a cramp in his calf and quite possibly shin splints.

By the time he came into sight of the motel again, he saw Sam sitting on the picnic table between Dean and their rooms (the same picnic table where Castiel had gotten bent out of shape about the dead bird), watching and waiting for Dean.

If there was one person he wanted to see less than Castiel at that moment, it was his little brother. Unfortunately, Sam had planted his ass right between Dean and any kind of safety (be it a room or his car), so Dean just put on his game face and marched right toward Sam. It felt like walking before a firing squad.

"Hey," Sam said when Dean was close. "You okay?"

Dean frowned. "What… I can't go for a run?" He went for nonchalant and was pretty sure he came off defensive as hell.

Sam lifted one eyebrow. "Well, I was just coming out of my room to rustle up a cup of coffee and saw Castiel leave. He looked pretty upset."

Dean's first instinct was to ask 'Castiel left? Where did he go? Did he say if he was coming back?', but every one of those questions would have screamed 'I have inappropriate feelings about him!', so Dean just scowled.

"Seriously, Dean, _what_is going on with you two?" Sam leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and broke out the 'I'm the most trust-worthy soul in the universe, pull up a seat and pour your heart out' face. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

He snorted. "What exactly do you want me to say, Sam?"

"Tell me what's wrong, for one," Sam said softly. Sam had that look on his face that Dean knew well… that 'I'm not going to let this go until you crack' look. For a second, Dean almost thought that he liked soulless Sam better. But only almost. Not even during Sam's most relentless 'let's have ourselves a heart-to-heart moment' did Dean ever regret having his brother back.

But still… didn't mean he had to be wild about having those Sam Winchester puppy-dog eyes aimed his way.

And damn, Dean did not want to do this, but somehow he still found himself wandering closer and climbing up on the table next to his brother. Screw Sam and his mind-control powers to make people care and share, anyway. "You ever get the feeling that Cas might… you know, that maybe he…" Dean changed his mind. Fuck this. Sam could just go sell his puppy look to that tree over there.

"Has feelings for you?" Sam offered oh so helpfully.

Dean shot a sharp look at Sam that would have cowed a mere civilian. As it was, Sam, with his hunter's metal, just took it with damnable calm. That somehow made it worse. "_Seriously_?"

Sam looked serious as a heart-attack. It was almost laughable how Sam got there with so little from Dean to guide him. Was Sam that smart or Dean that dense? "And how long have you thought that?"

"Uh… pretty much from the first time I met him?"

"You're kidding, right?"

At that, Sam laughed. "Dean… Castiel has always been creepily all up in your space and staring at you like no other human exists on the face of the Earth. He's had a weird angel-crush on you from day one, as far as I can tell." He stopped suddenly and looked closer at Dean. "You mean you didn't see that?"

Oddly, Dean felt kind of stupid for not picking up on what Castiel's quirks meant long before now (Sam made it sound like a baboon would have seen it). "Of course I knew he had a personal space issue and a staring problem, but I just figured those were Cas things."

"Yeah, well… Castiel never gets up in my space or stares for entire minutes at me." Sam gave Dean a moment before he said more kindly, "So, yeah… pretty obvious he's got a thing for you."

And Dean need not mention some weird kinda-sorta-the-feeling's-mutual thing that he had going on. Dean didn't even know what the fuck that was about, and even if he did, there was just no way. Not after the last two years.

Sam looked confused. "You're not okay with Castiel being into you?"

That was so dangerously close to shit Dean was not talking about, it wasn't even funny. And Sam said that like he had every reason to think Dean _would_ be okay with it. Huh. "It's just… it's _different_. We're – _he's_different. You know, before, there was that weird angelness about him, so it's like he couldn't get too close to us little humans, no matter how much time he spent around us. So he was intense, sure, but it wasn't… it wasn't really a concern, you know? It just wasn't in the cards. The angel factor kept things… simple. But that's gone, and now I don't…" Dean shook his head in frustration. "And what about this whole past year? He could barely give us the time. Just because he doesn't remember it doesn't mean it didn't happen."

"He was in the middle of a civil war, Dean!" Sam looked indignant on Castiel's behalf, and Dean wondered when his own brother had joined Castiel's side. Then Sam looked pensive. "What's this really about? And don't bullshit, dude, I know you. I get that you're pissed he was so out of touch lately, but there's more to it than just that."

_"Please, Cas… I can't do this. I tried because I promised Sammy, but I'm losing it. I need you to come down here. I know it's not Hell, but I could use some saving. Cas? Cas?"_

The memory was bitter. "It doesn't matter," Dean grumbled.

"If you're holding it over Castiel's head, I'd say it does," Sam countered sourly. Then Sam cast a sidelong look at his brother that went on for far too long. Dean knew the next thing out of Sam's mouth was going to be touchy-feely. Sam's expression turned both comforting and dead serious as he said, "Dean… listen, I want to say something, and I don't want you to get all macho on me, so just hear me out, okay? It's all right if you like Castiel."

For a terrifying nanosecond, Dean wondered if Sam had seen his dream… maybe he had some left-over freaky psychic powers and he saw. Or maybe he'd been peeking in a crack in the curtains and saw. But that was ridiculous, he was being paranoid, so Dean responded with the easiest excuse he had… the 'off limits' mantra he'd held in the back of his head longer than he wanted to admit. "Sam, he's an _angel_."

"Actually, he's not."

For now, anyway. "Well, he's still a _guy_."

For some reason, that seemed to disappoint Sam. He looked all sad-face and asked, "Would it matter to you if I was into guys?"

Naturally, Dean's big brother instinct told him to give Sam a hard time for even asking the question. He should be questioning Sam's sexuality, taunting him about picking up weird tastes in that liberal California college. He should be proclaiming that everything in Sam's childhood suddenly became clear. But the moment had not a shred of humor in it.

It left Dean with an honest evaluation of this hypothetical Sam Winchester, into men instead of women. Dean knew the answer to Sam's question with absolute certainty in only a few seconds. "No." He'd forgiven Sam for starting the end of the world… being gay was nothing in comparison.

"Then why do you think it would matter to me? You're my brother and I love you, no matter what. So if that's why you're so moody and mad and treating Castiel like shit, just knock it off and let yourself have what you want."

_Did_he want Cas? That morning he had, there was no doubt about that. But one erotic dream and some serious tension (that he wasn't ready to label 'sexual tension') didn't exactly scream head over heels love ballads.

"I don't know what I want, Sam," Dean confessed.

Sam smiled gently and touched Dean's knee. "You'll figure it out. And when you do know what you want, go after it. You deserve it."

On principle, Dean swatted Sam's hand away, then he silently mulled over what he'd said. Then he figured doing so probably told Sam he was hitting the nail on the head (so to speak). Dean was past even trying to backpedal and macho his way out of that. Sam's words have given him too much to think about.

It didn't solve all his problems, not by a long shot, but it was something of a load off to know that if Dean decided that yeah, he actually did kind of want Castiel, Sam wouldn't make a big deal out of it.

To Be Continued…


	13. Chapter 13

Castiel was gone so long, Dean figured it now qualified as missing. At first, Dean had been relieved that he wouldn't have to face him. He was not even close to knowing what to say to Castiel, not after that morning's epic weirdness. So he enjoyed being alone for the first time in more than a week.

But as the hours dragged on and Castiel still wasn't back, Dean started to get worried. Once it was past lunchtime and there was still no sign of Cas, Dean called up his brother. He was starting to hint around at forming a two-man search party when Sam dashed those hopes. "I'm sure he's fine… from the looks of both of you this morning, he probably just needed some time alone. But while I've got you on the phone, I wanted to let you know I'm going out for a while."

"A while? What's a while?" Dean snarled. He was thinking, 'I need you to help me find our errant angel, asshat!'

"Zoë's going with me to look into a possible job she found for me on the other side of town."

"Who the fuck is _Zoë_? Wait, _a job_?"

"Not a hunt, like a real job. She knows a guy who runs a bar, could use someone who's familiar with the scene and _isn't_an alcoholic."

"Since when are you looking for a job?"

"Dean… there hasn't been a hunt in _months_. Hell, we've been _here_for a week. We're going to have to start looking into longer-term solutions to securing food and shelter than our usual means."

That made sense, but Dean still didn't have to like it. "Fine, but I'm back to my original question… who the fuck is Zoë?"

"Dean…" and, right there, Sam sounded exasperated. "Dude, you've been spending pretty much all of your time with Castiel lately… did you really think I was just sitting here in my room watching daytime television?

"I met Zoë at this café down the road. I went for the wifi; this motel has shitty internet access. She was working on her thesis, doing some research online before work, and her computer crashed. She looked about ready to have a meltdown, so I let her borrow mine. We got to talking and just kind of hit it off."

"Well, isn't that just a Tom Hanks rom-com _sweet_."

"Don't hate because you're not getting any… that's entirely your fault. I'd lay odds Castiel is willing."

Dean scowled at his phone and sent 'set your hair on fire with the power of my mind' vibes through the connection. "What happened to not being a prick about _that_?"

If the lack of screaming on Sam's end was any indication, Dean's powers of pyrokinesis left something to be desired. Dean was pretty sure a guy with a mop like Sam's that was suddenly engulfed in flames wouldn't be chuckling. "Dude, I want you to be happy, but I'm still your brother. I'm only going to cut you so much slack free of ridicule and taunting."

Which, if the roles were flipped… "Fair enough. So, how long are you and 'Zoë'," Dean's voice provided the air quotes, "going to be gone?"

"Uh… probably 'til tomorrow."

Dean about swallowed his tongue. He felt like he was in some mirror universe where Sam was playing _Dean's_character… only mirror-universe Sam didn't have a cool evil-Spock goatee.

"She lives on the other side of town… I'll probably be staying with her tonight." Dean could hear Sam blush, the big adolescent girl. "So you're on your own until at least tomorrow."

"But Cas…"

"Dean, seriously! The guy found you in Hell, got kicked out of Heaven and found you, one tiny human on the face of the planet… I think he'll come back." And with that, Sam was gone and Dean was screwed.

Resenting Sam took up a little bit of Dean's time, and that was distracting for a while, but soon Dean was back to fretting about Castiel's whereabouts. He wondered if he should go looking for him, but Castiel hadn't taken a card key to the room when he left. Dean could see it still sitting on the dresser. Cas still forgot sometimes how limited he was, that something as small as a locked door could best him. And Dean didn't dare leave for any reason in his car. If Cas came back, saw the Impala gone, knocked on Dean's door and got no answer, then tried Sam's and got no answer there either, he might well figure he'd been abandoned. Unlike _some people_of a previously-angelic persuasion, Dean didn't abandon his friends.

They really needed to get Castiel another cell phone.

So Dean stayed put, pacing a rut in the floor with anxious waiting.

About six o'clock, a storm rolled in. Dean watched it out the motel room window with an equally stormy expression. It filled the sky with dark, billowing clouds. Then it began to rain. And still no Cas. Dean half-hoped that the rain would drive Cas home, but Dean watched the rain wash the Impala to a shiny black, and still there was no sign of the nerdy ex-angel returning.

By eight, the storm was going strong, and Dean was debating calling Sam and ordering him to get his ass back to help him look for Cas when there was a sudden knock on the door. Dean just about jumped out of his skin, then strode across the room and flung open the door.

On the other side stood Castiel, completely drenched. He was wearing jeans, a thermal long-sleeve undershirt, and t-shirt. They were all sticking to Castiel's frame, they were so completely soaked. His tennis shoes were leaking their own sponged-up water as he stood in his own personal puddle. His hair was plastered flat and wetly-black to his head. He looked like a drowned kitten, but his eyes suggested he didn't even notice… nor care.

Dean took it all in, gaped a second, then he turned every worried second he'd suffered into anger. "Get the fuck in here, Cas. Where the hell have you been?"

Castiel moved past Dean calmly, his shoes squishing on the carpet as he walked toward the sink area on the opposite side of the room. "I went for a walk."

"_A walk_?" Dean slammed the door closed and advanced on Cas. "That was more than a god damn walk! You were gone all day. What the hell were you thinking taking off like that?"

"I was thinking that I didn't need your permission to go out," Castiel retorted acidly.

Dean's jaw dropped open and he stood staring at the back of Castiel's head. Cas kicked off his soggy shoes and began to peel off his wet shirts, both at the same time.

"You… I never said you… damnit, Cas! You can't just disappear like that and not tell me where you're going!"

Castiel, shirtless, turned to face Dean. "Why not?"

"Because you can't! You have to let people know where you're going so they don't start thinking you're lying dead in a ditch somewhere!"

"I didn't realize my comings and goings had to be reported. Exactly who should be informed of my every move? Would the motel manager have been sufficient?"

Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd been so mad. Or the last time Castiel had been so intentionally difficult. "What the hell… you tell the people that care about you when you're going to just take off! It's a human courtesy! _Sam_ tells me when he's going to be gone _all fucking day_. That's how it works."

"Oh…" Castiel moved his hands to unfasten his water-heavy jeans. "I didn't realize you did."

"Did what?"

"Cared."

Dean went stock still. Castiel paused, fly open (his underwear was just as soaked as everything else, Dean now knew on authority), and he looked reproachfully at Dean. He also looked real damn unwavering.

So they were discussing _that_.

"What the fuck, Cas… that's not fair. You know I care."

"Really…"

"Would you stop being such a damn girl about what happened this morning? It was just… it was _nothing_." That's why Dean had flipped out and literally run out of the room… because it was nothing.

The relentlessness of Castiel's gaze felt like a Texas midday sun in August.

Things were getting intense and way too personal.

Dean turned his back on Castiel, just for a break from those laser-like blue eyes. Maybe he could move a few steps away, get some distance between them to help diffuse the tension a little.

He found himself suddenly grabbed by the shoulder, hauled around, and unceremoniously slammed into the wall. Dean's eyes flew open in shock. It was also damn familiar. Cas had done it before, in the beautiful room. Dean didn't know human Cas could still manhandle him around… but he obviously had fury to fuel him.

Castiel stood rigidly in front of Dean, his hands going to his sides and fisting while he glared fiercely at the hunter. The force of that glare alone pinned Dean to the wall.

"I wish you would stop _presuming_. You are so presumptuous, Dean, and it is annoying." Those piercing blue eyes narrowed. "It was nothing _to you_. Just because it was nothing to you doesn't mean it was nothing to _me_. It doesn't mean any of it has been meaningless to me." Castiel took a step closer, moving into that Castiel-sphere of space that was only a few inches from Dean. So close that Dean could smell Cas and rain. "And I respect that you _say_ you don't want me – and if you truly don't, then I respect that, too – but stop speaking of the idea of you and me like it is _wrong_. I'm through with you acting like what I want is wrong… I don't judge you like that, I don't tell you what you want is twisted and diseased, and I'd appreciate it if you stopped judging me and making me feel like a freak just for wanting."

Dean was pretty sure he wasn't breathing, but he could hear it coming in harsh pants, so he must be. He stared right at Cas, flabbergasted. "You don't really mean that," Dean croaked. "You don't know what you want."

"Actually, that is the only thing that I have not been uncertain of since I fell."

"You… you…"

"Love you."

Dean pressed back against the wall on reflex, but there was no give in it. No retreat. No escape. But he wasn't really sure he wanted to.

Castiel wasn't an angel anymore, but still he felt far more powerful than the slim man standing before Dean. Dean felt like he was going to be fucking burned by grace that Castiel didn't have anymore.

"Since when?" Dean managed stupidly. This was too much. Wanting was one thing, and it was something Dean understood. Love was an entirely different beast, and one of the few monsters from which Dean ran screaming.

"Since always. Time exists differently for angels than it does for humans. From your perspective, I loved you before I knew you."

"But I… Cas, we've known each other for years, and I never felt _that_from you."

"I loved you the only way an angel can, and even that was blasphemous. But it was not a love you could ever truly comprehend or understand… not as humans define it. It might not have been love to you, but it was to me. Only it wasn't enough. I had to become this," he gestured at himself, "to love you as humans love."

All those times when Castiel's regard for Dean had seemed on the verge of worship suddenly made a new, fucked-up kind of sense. And it had felt awkward and out of place and obsessive to Dean, but never like it was love. Now he realized that it always had been.

Castiel was leaning in closer, growling lowly, "And I can accept that you don't love me back, but I will not allow you to reduce me to one of those _things_you hunt just for –"

Castiel didn't get to finish his sentence, because in that second Dean reached forward and pulled Castiel into a crushing kiss. Castiel's skin was rain-cooled, warm underneath a layer of chill, and his mouth tasted like rainwater and Cas. Castiel was kissing Dean back a heartbeat later, and then he was pressing against Dean hungrily, pinning him to the wall with his body. Dean was grasping at the other man's shoulders, his fingers sliding over wet skin. Castiel's hands were suddenly snaking underneath Dean's shirt, lithe, cold fingers on feverish skin. Dean dropped his hands to Castiel's hips, fisted his hands in the loose denim on either side of Cas's open fly, and tugged him closer. When Cas's hips came flush against his, Dean could feel just how sincerely Castiel wanted Dean. Castiel's fingers tracked up Dean's body until his fingers were raking over Dean's nipples.

It was the hottest fucking moment Dean could remember in a really long time. And it was shocking as hell that it was with _Castiel_.

Castiel, who claimed to have loved him the entire time, and who had _left him_. Dean saw himself as he'd been two years ago, standing in the middle of the road in the dead of night in Cicero, Indiana begging for a friend and hearing only crickets in answer.

Dean yanked his mouth away from Castiel's and gulped for air. He muttered hoarsely, "Fuck, Cas."

"Yes," Castiel purred as he latched his mouth onto Dean's neck.

It felt amazing and fucking _dangerous_at the same time. Dean groaned and had to push Castiel away forcibly. "No, I mean… jesus."

Castiel drew back his head to fix Dean with a thoroughly perplexed look. "Fuck Jesus?" His expression was a perfect copy of the 'angel doesn't understand the humans' look Dean used to get so often from Castiel with a dash of perturbed that was all too human. The mixture of the two only fueled Dean's anxiety.

"Just… _stop_."

Like someone had burned him, Castiel pulled away from Dean and retreated a couple of steps. Dean watched him. Cas was panting and his eyes were hooded and dark, plus the bulge in his pants (that had been half-way to off to begin with) was distracting as hell, but his expression was confused and hurt.

For a moment, Dean just had to sag against the wall and recover. His heart was racing, and a base part of him just wanted to reach out and pull Cas back into him. It was a part of himself he usually listened to, Dean ever one to feed his carnal urges, but not this time… not with Cas. The only thing that kept him in check was that fear that if he let Castiel do this to him, make him fall into this and want it just as bad and god forbid _need it_, it only meant Castiel could severely fuck him up later, when Cas was restored to full angel status. Because Castiel, the angel, obviously had a definition for love that included abandoning Dean.

Dean might be able to go along with an unconventional concept of a relationship, but one that included being abandoned _did not fly_.

"What did I do wrong now?" Castiel demanded gruffly, masking pain with anger but not doing it very well.

"_You abandoned me_," Dean accused Castiel in the heat of the moment. So much for not telling Castiel about it like an emo teenage girl.

That earned him a puzzled frown. "I'm right here, Dean."

"Yeah, now. But you weren't, before."

The ex-angel still looked baffled, and that hurt. Something that had affected Dean so powerfully shouldn't be something that Castiel had easily forgotten, like it was some trifling, unimportant detail.

Which just went further to prove that Dean couldn't do this. Not with an angel. Or a going-to-be-returned-to-angel-status-at-some-undefined-future-time man. If that was how angels showed affection, Dean just couldn't cope with that.

"Dean…" Cas pleaded for clarification.

"After the fucking showdown with Lucifer and Michael, Cas," Dean answered sharply. "When I was in Indiana and wanted to fucking kill myself because my brother was _dead_ and I hated that I wasn't. I was about to fall apart and prayed to you for a little help and you ignored me! I called for you so many times for _months_that it turned into one of those things you say without even thinking, like 'good morning' or 'I'm going to make it good for you, baby', but it was 'please, Cas, I need you,' and you didn't answer me, not one fucking time!"

Once it was all out of him, poured forth in a righteous flood, Dean found himself feeling empty and tired in the wake. He leaned heavily on the wall, grateful for its support, and watched Castiel wearily. He didn't even know what he expected, but it wasn't just his burden anymore. Now Cas knew. Even if he didn't remember himself, he still knew.

Castiel was staring at Dean, eyes wide. He opened his mouth. "Dean, I…" then something seemed to take hold of him. His expression hardened, his body stiffened, and his demeanor shifted visibly. He took a couple of steps back. If Dean didn't know better, he'd say Cas looked immensely guilty and remorseful.

At least he finally fucking remembered. Dean was certain that Castiel did, just from the look on his face.

Dean pushed off the wall, surprised by how unsteady he felt. Castiel began to reach out to brace him. Dean shied away. "Don't… Cas, just don't."

Castiel looked crestfallen but nodded and let his hand drop back to his side. He stared at the floor, refusing to meet Dean's eyes.

Dean was okay with that. He didn't know what he'd do if he had to look Castiel in the eye just then.

Instead, he moved away from Castiel and over to his bed, shucked his jeans, and climbed in. After a few taut seconds, Dean could feel when Castiel stopped watching him like Dean was an undetonated grenade. Even still, the tension in the room was suffocating. Dean was hyper-aware of every move Castiel made while he moved quietly around the room.

Eventually, Castiel turned off the lights and got into the second bed. It was the first time in a week that Dean and Castiel had not shared one.

To Be Continued…


	14. Chapter 14

The screams came at him from every angle, creating a sound tapestry of torture that was almost elegant. There was music in the layers of screams, and beauty in the music. It was also the perfect soundtrack to his work. He always did like to work to music.

It was a man this time, writhing on the rack before him like an animal in a trap. He fought against the hooks that impaled him at hands and feet, holding him spread-eagle for Dean's artistry. Dean danced the blade over his knuckles like a magician with a coin, watching the eager dance of blood-red light on the edge. The man was screaming. Dean wouldn't dream of him stopping; his voice was a critical part of the symphony swelling around him. He would cut the throat last, preserve that sweet scream as long as possible.

Dean stepped forward and slashed the man's face. Dean did that first, always. He got so good at mutilating faces with the precise number of cuts needed – no more, no less – to make anyone anonymous. Then it wasn't a man or a woman, it was just a canvas, and Dean a master of subtractive art.

One thought repeated in his mind as he worked, no matter the canvas. 'They are damned souls; they are here because they deserve it.' They weren't people, weren't humans, just demons. Unborn demons gestating in the womb of the pits was all they were. Demons Dean could butcher. He had so many frustrations built up to boiling point at demons that it wasn't hard to find that beast inside him, hungry for an outlet. And finally, finally he could get them like they got him… in youth.

He made up stories about their sins. This man was an abusive husband. So Dean pried open his jaws and sliced open his tongue. He cut clean down the middle, giving the proto-demon a forked tongue. The man wailed and gargled on his own blood. Dean grinned and felt blood spilling down his chin. His mouth filled with more blood, his own, but he couldn't stop.

There was no end… every cut Dean made on his canvas appeared on himself. But if he stopped, he would be the man. In a world where the suffering never ended, there was great power in being the one to control it. When he was inflicting it, Dean didn't notice the pain of his own soul as much. It was channeled into his victim, passed along so that the more Dean cut and carved, the less it hurt him. It made him a very diligent student of the art of torturing souls.

Suddenly, a blinding white light cleaved through the black and red cauldron of the pits. It struck Dean and the light was painful at first… but no, that wasn't right. It _wasn't_ painful. Dean's soul had ceased to know how to process existence without pain, and the complete absence made him flinch at first. Then he turned, stupefied, and stared up into the light. It bathed him with cool, promising tendrils of peace. His wounds stopped hurting. His soul stopped breaking. For that moment, he wasn't Hell's artisan… he was _Dean_. He'd forgotten he had a name, an identity, a self, until that light touched him.

He dropped his blade. For the first time in years, he dared to put it down. He reached up for the light. It was coming for him. It was coming to save him.

It was Cas. Dean recognized the essence of the angel in the mini-sun plowing through Hell's defenses to reach him.

For the first time in decades, he begged. "Cas! Cas, please! Help! I need help! I need you! Cas!"

The angel's blessed light fought closer. He was so close. Dean could almost touch that heavenly light.

Then, without warning, Castiel was turning. The light shifted and began to retreat. Castiel was leaving him.

"NO! Cas! Wait! Don't! PLEASE!" Dean reached upward with gleaming bone-white hands, trying to call the angel back.

But it was no use. Castiel knew Dean needed saving, but he turned his back on him and faded away.

Dean jerked awake with a sharp intake of breath. He only breathed out again when he took in his surroundings enough to know he wasn't in Hell… it had just been a nightmare. His breath left him in a quick rush and he forced his muscles to relax as he lay on his side and surveyed the room. His eyes flitted first to the empty space on the bed beside him… the place where he had grown accustomed to finding Castiel. When he didn't see the angel there, the terror of his nightmare toyed with him ever so briefly. Until he remembered last night. Cas, rain-soaked, telling Dean that he loved him. Dean practically yelling at Cas for abandoning him. And Cas standing there, stunned but offering no defense or denial.

Dean's spine stiffened at the memory. Then he sensed a presence near him.

Dean lifted his head and looked over his shoulder. He found Cas sitting perched on the edge of his bed, so close that Castiel's weight made the mattress dip and coaxed Dean closer to him. Cas was sitting with his back to Dean, but there was no question that Castiel's attention was locked on Dean. It was a familiar scene. Dean might have thought Castiel had been angeled back up during the night but for the fact he wasn't wearing his suit and trench coat ensemble. The thin, white cotton t-shirt (Cas, for once, had bare arms instead of the under-layer of a thermal shirt) and boxers were human and telling.

But Dean couldn't dismiss the angel this man had the potential to be… not if he wanted to protect himself.

"I thought you were done with that stalker shit," Dean growled as he pushed himself up to a sitting position.

Castiel turned to briefly look Dean in the eye, and the expression was very far from the detached curiosity that was distinctly angelic. Cas looked careworn and tired… entirely too human.

Dean scooted back until he was propped against the headboard. It wasn't much distance between them, but it was enough that Dean couldn't feel the aura of Castiel's body heat on any part of him anymore. "How long have you been sitting there?" he asked in a morning-rough voice.

"A while," Castiel confessed. He shifted to more directly face Dean, though he still didn't look at him.

For his part, Dean just watched Cas warily. He had no idea what yesterday's confessions would do to their friendship. How could you just pretend like the shit they'd said hadn't been said? That it wasn't a big fucking deal? 'I love you, Dean.' 'You abandoned me, Cas.'

The silence between them was growing taut. Maybe a strategic retreat was in order.

"Not that this isn't fun, but –"

"I heard every prayer."

Dean was speechless.

Cas looked up tentatively at Dean and continued, "What you said made me remember all of it. I wanted to tell you last night…" Cas faltered. "But I thought it might be better to give you time to calm down first."

"Time to calm down before you tell me why the hell you just left me down here all by myself?" Dean ground out tersely. And maybe 'by himself' wasn't really true, the whole rest of humanity was with him, but _fuck_ it had felt like he was all alone. "I called for you for _months_, Cas. It took me that long to get it through my thick skull that apparently everything we'd been through meant nothing to you."

"That's not true," Castiel said lowly. He sat up straighter, looked directly into Dean's eyes, and said, "If I could have gone to you, I would have. I wanted to. I wanted to answer every prayer."

"Then why didn't you?"

"Because I made a grave tactical error within the first hours of the civil war in Heaven that I could not afford." Castiel frowned at the memory. "I presumed chaos would be more wide-spread and all-consuming among the Host. I thought I had time to give you a few hours before I left."

Dean remembered those hours of which he spoke, after Castiel had healed Dean and resurrected Bobby and by all accounts need not have remained Earthbound but did anyway. The last time Dean would see Cas for a year was later that night in the Impala, talking about freedom versus paradise.

"Raphael didn't wait to gather followers to his cause. While I was indulging myself by remaining with you, he was forming his army. When I did return to Heaven, I flew straight into a trap.

"I heard your prayers, Dean, but I _couldn't_answer them. At the time, I was a prisoner of Raphael, being subjected to his own idea of Heaven's persuasion as punishment for my actions."

"Wait, hold up a second," Dean interrupted forcefully. Castiel sighed and looked patiently at Dean. "You mean that the whole time I was calling for you, you were in enemy hands being _tortured_?"

"Yes."

Dean didn't know what he wanted to do more… hug Cas or punch him. He leaned in toward Castiel, his voice thick with anger. "Why didn't you ever tell me that before? Why did you just let this _tension_happen between us when all you had to do was tell me?"

Castiel cocked his head in a very familiar gesture. "It was four months, by your perception, before Balthazar and others sympathetic to my cause joined forces and freed me. They had been quietly sabotaging Raphael's efforts to restart the Apocalypse, but they realized a more direct approach would be necessary, and none of them were prepared to accept the role of general of an angel army. None of them were created for it, and they were still so constrained by what they had been meant to be to even try to be anything else. They were in need of a leader already given over to… rebellion. They needed the angel anarchist, so they attacked my captors and freed me so that I might take up that mantel." Cas looked off to the side, bemused. "I thought Balthazar had died in that rescue mission.

"I was finally released from my prison. But by then, you had stopped praying for me."

"Because I thought you didn't give a shit," Dean argued. "You should have come to me as soon as you could and explained what happened."

"I wanted to very much… and I considered it."

"So why didn't you?" Dean inched closer to Castiel, still full of indignant fury. "If I had known you didn't answer me because you were a prisoner of war…"

"I didn't tell you the truth about my silence because I thought it was best for you."

Dean drew back, shocked. "How the hell'd you figure that?"

"You had given up on me. You'd turned your efforts to building a normal human life for yourself." Castiel looked earnestly at Dean. "I want you to be happy, Dean. After all you have done for humanity, you deserve happiness… and a simple human life had the best chance to give that to you. I made the decision to stay out of your life for your own good."

Maybe he should be touched or something, but Dean was anything but. "That's a load of crap. Don't you think that should have been up to me? I don't appreciate anyone making life decisions for me. Not God, not Michael, and not you. I'll decide what makes me happy." Too late, Dean realized he was implying that the answer to that would be Castiel.

"It wasn't just your happiness that concerned me," Castiel added. "I suddenly found myself head of an army in an angel civil war. I was a hunted rebel leader with one weakness… you. If my enemies found out how fond I still was of you, you would become a target. The more we both seemed to have forgotten about each other, the safer you would be."

Dean crowded even closer on the bed to Castiel. His indignation was building on itself, feeding on the nearly two years of frustration and finally given leave to burn as the truth came pouring out, flammable as gasoline. "Yeah, and that wasn't up to you, either. You think I'm scared of a little danger? Or of the fucking angels, for that matter? I spent a year with Michael looking for his chance to pull me into a dark alley and have his way with me without the courtesy of a reach-around, so don't try to pull that shit with me, Cas. Don't say it was all for me."

At that, Castiel turned an unexpectedly blazing, fiery look on Dean. Even if he wasn't an angel anymore, he still had the bearing in his spirit (like a somatic memory of greatness), and it made Dean flinch back slightly. "It wasn't all for you! It was also for _me_. I couldn't spare the time worrying about you. I had a _planet_to save, the entire human race – you among them – depended on me not failing. I couldn't afford distraction, and that's what you are to me, Dean. Distracting."

"So it's back to being my fault," Dean grumbled.

"If you did something to make me love you, then yes, it's all your fault," Castiel countered sarcastically.

That made Dean snort.

Castiel shook his head, the corner of his mouth trying to curl into a smile, but he spoke past it, "I love you, Dean, and I couldn't let that cause me to lose the war. Because if it came down to a choice between you and every other human life on Earth…" Castiel shuddered, and he looked pained but resigned to his next words (like it was a law of nature that he had no power to change). "I can't tell you I wouldn't choose you."

The air in the room seemed to vanish and Dean just gaped a moment. He sat staring at Cas, once a powerful angel telling him he'd been ready to trade Dean's patch-work, stained soul for _everyone_. That was too enormous for him to even process, and he wasn't sure if it was anger or panic that was fluttering in his chest alongside his heart.

"How can you even… that's fucked up, Cas."

"Any more fucked up than the lengths you'd go to for your brother?" Cas accused pointedly.

Then, without warning, Dean laughed.

Startled, Castiel looked up at him.

Too hysterical to talk, Dean buried his face in his hands and laughed… but it had that edge of mania to it, like it was a laugh, but also crazed peels of sound that were on the ragged edge of being recognizably human. Still, he kept on laughing, because he was scared to think what the alternative to laughter would be if he stopped.

When he had control of himself again and looked up through the tears in his eyes at Cas, the former angel was looking at him like he'd lost his mind. Almost. Dean just wiped at his cheeks. "Cas, man… we ought to knight you an honorary Winchester. That is some seriously Winchester-level fucked-upery."

At that, Castiel slowly started to smile. "I was accused, on more than one occasion, of spending too much time around you and your bother."

The impulse welled up in Dean, and he didn't bother to fight it. He didn't give himself time to question it. He just scooted across the remaining distance of bed between him and Cas, reached out, and pulled the guy into a hug. Castiel, twisted at the waist, slumped into Dean immediately, head falling on to Dean's shoulder while Dean wrapped his arms tight around Castiel's shoulders. After a second, Castiel brought up his arms and looped them around Dean's ribcage, locking his arms in that position by clasping his own wrist with his other hand behind Dean's back.

Dean couldn't believe how light he felt… like those two years had been marked by sandbags draped over both shoulders that he never realized were there. The cords had been cut and suddenly Dean was half his own weight. Because Castiel hadn't heard Dean and simply ignored him… he'd heard him, but answering was never an option. He'd wanted to, but been physically unable. It meant Dean hadn't been abandoned. There had been some stupid self-sacrificing to do a Winchester proud on Castiel's part, but it wasn't abandonment.

Without lifting his head from Dean's shoulder – without even loosening the grip of his arms around Dean's body – Castiel said softly, "Even though I thought what I did was for the best, I hated feeling disconnected from you."

Dean squeezed Cas tighter. "I hated it, too. Don't ever do that again, okay?"

Castiel nuzzled Dean's neck, which was surprisingly pleasant and distracting, but it didn't keep Dean from noticing that Castiel made no such promise. Honestly, Dean wasn't surprised. If circumstances arose that meant self-sacrifice and martyrdom were the only way to keep those he loved safe, Castiel would do whatever he had to. Just like Dean would, in his shoes. They were quite a pair.

So Dean didn't push him. Instead, he pulled. Dean leaned toward the middle of the bed, tugging Castiel forward with him.

"Dean…" Cas said as he began to lose his balance, still attached to a Dean moving backward.

"Come on, Cas. Get in here. I know how crappy you sleep alone. Tell me you're not tired."

The tiny shred of resistance in Castiel melted. "Well…" he hedged, and went willingly into bed with Dean. Without letting go his spider-monkey grip on Dean, he twisted and rearranged his legs to lie comfortably alongside Dean, their bodies pressed together.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean snorted. He wiggled down into a comfortable position in the bed, and Castiel shifted and moved until he was cozy. It would have been a hell of a lot easier to do if they would just let go of each other for a few minutes, but Dean wasn't going to be the one to suggest it. Either it didn't occur to Cas, or he wasn't going to say a word about it any more than Dean.

Almost as soon as they were comfortably situated, Castiel began to fall to sleep. Dean could feel him grow warm and heavy in his arms, the warm breaths that were brushing against Dean's chest growing deep and even.

They still had a lot to talk about, Dean knew. Probably enough drama to fill the quota of a couple of episodes of Dr. Sexy, M.D. and then some. But everything else seemed manageable now… now that he knew the truth about those months when he'd called for Castiel and received no answer. He hated that Castiel had been tortured, but he was relieved to know Castiel hadn't just given up on him. It made a huge difference just to know Castiel had _wanted_to answer him.

Dean could work with that.

To Be Continued…


	15. Chapter 15

When he woke a second time, Dean had no idea what time it was. That, in itself, wasn't so unusual. The Winchesters could work some crazy hours, and it did a number on their sleep patterns. What Dean was unaccustomed to was waking up feeling content and pleasantly warm. Even when he'd shared a bed with Lisa, he didn't wake up feeling like a cat that had fallen asleep in the windowsill. The whole time he'd been living with Lisa, he lived in anxious anticipation of it all coming crashing down. Normal was allergic to Winchesters, and Dean kept waiting for the anaphylactic shock to set in. Every day he'd woken up holding his breath, wondering if he'd open his eyes to blood and screams. He feared that every morning would be the morning he'd have to fight to save Ben and Lisa's lives… protect them for making the fatal mistake of harboring a Winchester.

This time, Dean woke feeling cozy and lazy. He sensed someone in bed with him at the same time he noted a touch on his back. A hand was resting on his back while Dean lay on his stomach. Its weight was a comfortable anchor to consciousness that Dean followed. He opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of Cas asleep next to him. Castiel was sleeping on his side (close enough to Dean that he could feel the aura of his body heat) with one arm thrown out across Dean.

Dean marveled at the fact that he'd gotten so used to Castiel reaching out for him in his sleep. It was even more surprising how good it made Dean feel to know that just being able to touch him calmed Castiel's troubled sleep. There was an infinitely peaceful look to Castiel's rest, his breathing steady, even, and whisper-soft, and it all hung from that light touch Castiel maintained on Dean's back. Not since Sam was little had Dean's effect on another been so profound from so little of Dean as a simple touch. Lately, it seemed like to even make a dent in those he loved, Dean had to carve out huge chunks of his soul.

Dean blinked suddenly at the train of his own thoughts. Those he loved? He wondered… did that include Cas now? Castiel had made it clear how he felt, and he hadn't been shy about tossing around the dreaded 'L' word.

Dean didn't have it in him to be quite so reckless… not in that department, anyway. Love was all thorns and no rose… or so it seemed to Dean Winchester. Even he admitted he had a pretty screwy relationship with the concept.

When it came to family, Dean could take his love for them as a foregone conclusion because it was the natural expectation. People loved their families, and even if there were exceptions to that rule, it was established enough that Dean went with it. He wasn't weak or girly because he loved his family. But when it was a matter of anyone outside his blood, Dean got twitchy. He had to make a choice (because with Sam, John, and Mary, it had never even been a question). He had to choose to open that iron door to an outsider. He had to take a chance on being in a position to be hurt by a person of his choosing. He had to decide if this was a person for whom he would be weak. And all his life, Dean had kept that gate firmly shut. It was safe behind his barricade; his family might hurt him because he couldn't prevent that, but no one else would have the power.

And then there was Cas, who stubbornly refused to fit into any of the neat categories Dean lived by.

Dean wasn't sure how he felt. He did know that today, as opposed to yesterday, he felt no impulse to fly out of bed and run out the door. Of course, he hadn't woken up dry-humping Cas this time, either. But what if he had? He honestly didn't know what his reaction would be.

Castiel slept on, oblivious, and Dean indulged in staring. He figured he was due some payback for all the times Cas had watched him sleep. Castiel looked disarmingly vulnerable. Painfully, breakably human in the faint flutter of his dark lashes and the utterly rumpled disarray of his nearly-black hair. But he was still the one who'd forsaken his very existence to help the Winchesters when he believed their cause was just. He'd turned his back on his heavenly family to stand alongside two pitiful humans to face down the end of the world. Now he was curled in sleep in Dean's bed, for the moment asking nothing more than touch.

For a fleeting moment, Dean wanted to reach out and collect Cas up in another hug.

His cell phone began ringing instead.

Dean rolled out of bed immediately, hoping to stop the phone before it woke Cas, but Castiel was already grumbling grouchily at the classic rock ringtone. Without opening his eyes, he snagged Dean's pillow and mashed it down over his head to drown out the noise. Dean chuckled as he grabbed up his phone and answered it. He knew who it was without looking.

"Heya, Sammy."

"Hey," Sam greeted. "Did Cas come home?"

At the question, Dean slid a glance toward the bed. "Yeah, he's right here."

"And did you two kiss and make up?" Sam asked teasingly.

They'd kissed and they'd made up, but not close enough together for it to count as kissing and making up (so Dean figured). "Bitch, I will hang up on you," Dean threatened.

There was a damnable chuckling on the other end. "Okay, okay, sorry… listen," Sam's tone turned serious, "I need to talk to you about something. Have you eaten lunch yet?"

"Lunch… what time is it?" Dean looked around for a clock.

"Nearly one. You didn't…" Sam's tone grew cheeky, "did I wake you up when I called?"

No good way to admit that. "Yeah, well, you woke up Cas, too, and he's looking kind of smitey about that." From under his head-pillow sandwich, Castiel mumbled something unintelligible and pulled the covers up tighter around his shoulders. Dean smirked and wandered toward the bathroom, taking the conversation with him. "So what's up?"

"I'll tell you when you get here."

"And where exactly is here?"

"Hildegard's." Sam gave Dean the address of a restaurant, about twenty minutes out from the motel. Dean told Sam they'd meet him there in forty and hung up.

Then he went to the bed to wake Cas. He ended up perching on the edge to where Castiel's back was to him, a flipped mirror image of earlier that morning when it had been Dean sleeping and Cas sitting. "Rise and shine, Cas," Dean sing-songed. For good measure, he plucked off the pillow on top of Castiel's head.

Cas immediately rolled over on to his back to squint up at Dean petulantly. Then he scowled. "I no longer shine, Dean… remember?"

"Depends on how you define shine," Dean argued lowly as he tossed the pillow in his hand aside. When he looked back at the ex-angel, he was watching Dean with that reverent stare like Dean was the most glorious of God's creations. If it was any other person, Dean would feel uncomfortable being the target of such an unrelenting stare, but he was used to Castiel's way of watching him like Dean was about to let slip the secret of the universe (which was absurd, because if either of them was in danger of letting slip cosmic secrets, it certainly wasn't Dean). On an angel, it had been disconcerting. On a human, it was captivating.

Dean didn't realize he was staring back until Cas dropped a hand to Dean's thigh. It felt like a test, Cas watching to see what Dean did with unsolicited touch after their conversation that morning. Dean startled but he didn't flee. It wasn't really panic racing through him this time, though it felt like a kissing-cousin. The feelings were new and uncharted. This could be good, his instincts screamed, but it could also be dangerous. It was that exhilarating sense of playing with fire that Dean knew all too well.

"Yes," Castiel said softly, "I can see how humans are capable of shining."

"Cas, man, we gotta teach you… you just don't say shit like that." A flush crept up Dean's neck. To mask it, he rolled his eyes and stood. "Get your shiny ass out of bed, 'cause we're meeting Sam in about half an hour."

Castiel merely nodded and got out of bed to get dressed.

They got ready in silence, quietly efficient and task-oriented. Castiel was adept enough at the morning rituals to not need Dean's help, and the silence that descended over the room was surprisingly comfortable.

Dean was ready before Cas, but not by much (mostly owing to his vast amount of practice at brushing his teeth and hair that shaved minutes off his time). He stood by ready with car keys in hand while Castiel was shrugging into his white jacket with the wings on the back.

Without really thinking about what he was doing, Dean stepped up behind Cas, brought up a hand, and smoothed his palm over the black design emblazoned across Castiel's shoulders. Castiel stood perfectly still for Dean's touch, turning his head to bring Dean into his peripheral vision. It gave Dean a perfect profile view of Castiel smiling faintly.

He danced his fingers over the black lines thoughtfully. "What did the real ones feel like?"

Castiel's smile disappeared. Dean stopped his hand guiltily for reminding Cas of what he'd lost. He almost removed his hand in the next second until he caught himself. Cas thrived on physical contact. Or rather, he thrived on physical contact from Dean. So instead of pulling away, Dean curled his hand up to Castiel's shoulder and let it hang there. Cas looked up into Dean's eyes, gauged him a moment, then sighed. "I don't know how to explain it to you. How would you explain what your skin feels like to one who'd never had any?"

"I'd like to know what kind of conversation I could be having with something that never had skin."

That earned Dean a huff-chuckle, and Castiel cocked his head slightly. "Close your eyes."

Dean quirked an eyebrow but obeyed. He felt Castiel take the hand off his shoulder, then he felt a warm rush of air through his fingers as Castiel blew on them. A gust of air so different in pressure and temperature from the air around it that it was almost a tangible object in itself. Dean opened his eyes without permission, looking quickly at Cas. Cas was still holding Dean's hand up in front of his mouth, and he turned his eyes to look at Dean implacably. "They felt like that. Or that's as close as I can explain it to one of your limited capacity."

To cover up the weird tingle that had rushed through him, Dean snorted and drew back his hand. "There it is… been a while since you said anything about tiny humans and their pesky limits. I almost forgot you were an angel." Not even close to forgetting, actually.

Cas looked stricken by the statement, try to hide it though he did… he just wasn't that good at mastering his facial expressions yet. He looked sucker-punched, and that hadn't been Dean's intention. "Hey… it's okay."

"No, it isn't, but it's not your fault," Castiel muttered.

"Well, we don't know that. You should reserve the right to blame me until we know more. You may be cursing me once we find out what happened." Dean hadn't dwelled on the possibility he was somehow responsible for what had happened to Cas, but the niggling doubt was there from the get go. Seemed like everything shitty that happened to Cas could be traced to the Winchesters… it wasn't a huge leap to suspect his falling might be, too.

But Castiel was already shaking his head. "Whatever the reason for my fall, I place no blame with you. You always strive to do the right thing. It's the nature of your soul. You were and are the righteous man, Dean."

Righteous his ass… and if his grandmother had a handle, she'd be a teakettle. "Yeah, well, we all know where the road paved with good intentions leads," Dean muttered. When Cas looked like he didn't know, Dean just shook his head and ferried Castiel out of the room and into the car.

It felt good to slide behind the wheel of his baby, even for a little trip across town.

To Be Continued…


	16. Chapter 16

Hildegard's was a quirky place in an unexpected part of town. It was smack-dab in the middle of a residential block, bracketed on both sides by old-style houses (Sam would probably know the era or the name of the style, because he was a lady like that). And right across the street was a church, its white-washed steeple hefting a cross up at the sky.

When Dean and Cas got out of the car, Castiel's eyes went immediately to the church, and he just sort of froze. He stared long and hard, and his mind seemed to be a million miles away. With Cas, there was no telling how true that might actually be. Dean frowned and got a strange sense of panic that Cas was about to disappear on him in a gust of wind and the sound of wingbeats.

"Cas?"

Castiel turned to look over the roof of the car at Dean. "I will join you inside later." Then, with that, he started across the street toward the church.

Dean had his mouth open to say something, 'no' or 'come back' or 'look both ways before you cross the street', but in the end he said nothing and just stood next to his car and watched Castiel walk up the church steps and go inside. He stood there pretending like there wasn't a knot of anxiety and nausea in his gut. What if Cas found God in there, and the big guy took him back into his angel ranks? And shouldn't Dean want that to happen? It would be the best for Cas, after all. But fact of the matter was his gut wanted him to keep Castiel away from that church at all costs.

Deciding he was being a bigger girl than Sam (and probably a pretty shitty friend to Cas besides), Dean forced himself to put the church and its wayward angel out of his mind and turned to head inside Hildegard's.

As soon as he stepped inside, Dean could see why Sam liked the place. It had a coffee house in California feel to it, completely out of place for Ohio but no doubt a place the locals were proud of for its oddness and distinct west-coast vibe. Dean spotted Sam almost immediately, sitting at a table next to a stage empty of all but a microphone, and the big oaf looked right at home. He waved at his brother to beckon him over.

Once he reached Sam, Dean took a seat across from his brother and said right away, "Trust you to find a place like this in Ohio."

Sam didn't miss a beat. "Just because it doesn't have a dart board and pool tables and shady truckers and bikers giving you the eye like they're trying to decide whether to fleece you or fuck you…"

"Don't knock the life, man," Dean quipped and he looked around for a waitress to flag down. "It might be seedy at times, but it's our life… own it, Sammy."

"Yeah, well… that's kind of what I want to talk to you about."

Dean's eyes snapped immediately to Sam, because he knew that tone. It was Sam just before he left for Stanford. It was Sam setting his eyes on something else. Something much less Winchester.

"You better start talking," Dean said in a carefully controlled voice. Before Sam could, though, the waitress turned up, and Dean was too hungry to send her off again. So he inquired about a few dishes without bothering to refer to the menu (some things were served just about everywhere as long as it wasn't a specific ethnic eatery), and once she was gone with his order, he looked intently at his little brother. Sam was leaning on the table, arms folded, and chewing on his bottom lip. He didn't do that often… only when he had something he really didn't know how to tell Dean.

"Sammy…"

"I got the job," he said instead. "You know, the one I told you about."

"Didn't doubt you would, but that's not what you asked me to come here to tell me, is it?"

"No…" Sam shifted uneasily in his chair. Then he sighed expansively. "Okay, here's the deal… Zoë and I were talking last night. Actually, that's all we did."

"Typical," Dean snorted. "First time you get with a girl since," since he had a soul, since Ruby, "so long I don't even remember, and all you two do is talk. I failed you as an older brother; I blame myself. I clearly didn't teach you how to win over the ladies."

"Seriously, Dean, I'm trying to have an adult conversation with you here. The deal is, Zoë lives on the opposite side of town from where she works and goes to school because she inherited her parents' house last year. They died."

If anyone could sympathize with that, it was the Winchesters. "That sucks… though I don't see what that has to do with us."

"Well," Sam began, but before he could say more, they were interrupted yet again.

"Hey, Sam, sorry I'm late." Dean glanced up to get a look at the woman that had come to their table. She was about Sam's age, with brown eyes and short blond hair. She was probably no more than 5'5", made plain by the unassuming jeans and university t-shirt she was wearing. She reminded Dean of a gymnast, actually, stout with muscle where most girls went for that waif thin look.

"Hey, Zoë," Sam greeted brightly. "It's all right… my brother just got here a few minutes ago."

At that, she turned her attention to Dean and smiled. "Hi, I'm Zoë Harrison." She held out her hand to him for a shake.

Dean obliged without bothering to stand up, adding unnecessarily, "Dean Winchester."

"Nice to meet you." She took back her hand and looked around. "Where's your boyfriend?"

Dean shot a murderous look at Sam, who had a mischievous twinkle in his eye all of a sudden. Dean could just imagine the shit Sam had been telling this girl. Sam could expect some nasty surprise in the near future.

To Zoë, he simply said, "Across the street at the church."

It was worth it to see Sam's jaw drop while Zoë pulled out a seat at the table and sat down. "Oh… he's into that sort of thing?"

"From a very religious family," Dean answered vaguely.

"Hmmm… well, to each his own. So, what did I miss?" She turned a look on Sam. "Did you ask him?"

"Ask me what?"

Sam looked like a bug under a magnifying glass, all the wicked glee at making Dean and Cas boyfriends gone. "Zoë knows we've been staying at a motel for the past week and a half, and now that I've got this job… short story is, she's offered to let us move in with her."

Dean stiffened immediately. He wanted to reach across the table and shake Sam. What the hell was he thinking, leaping into shacking up with some civilian? He should know better than that. The Winchesters didn't make even semi-permanent decisions like that. They weren't normal people. They couldn't just drag their weird-ass shit into a regular person's life. Dean had tried, and it blew up like he'd known it would. Sam had tried, and it got Jessica Moore killed. Hunters and normal people did not mix and Sam damn well _knew_that.

"She knows what we do," Sam said lowly, as if reading Dean's mind.

Zoë was watching him closely, and when he looked twice, he realized there was that hint of haunting in her expression. He knew that look. Beyond the stare of a hunter, it was the look he'd seen in the mirror since he was four.

"My parents were possessed by demons." She looked around and dropped her voice. "I had no idea what was wrong with them, not at first. They were acting weird and… hurting people. That's not my parents. Mom and Dad were gentle types… if they'd been old enough, they would have been in on the war protests against Vietnam. That's the kind of people they were. Then they just… changed."

"How did you find out about this?" Dean asked his brother.

"When we got to Zoë's last night, I noticed a groove notched out of her threshold, ran the width of the doorway. There was salt in it."

Dean turned a look on Zoë, who smiled thinly. "A hunter came to town and he… after my parents were dead, he told me about salting the windows and doors." She frowned and looked intently at Sam. Then she turned to Dean again and said point-blank, "When Sam saw the salt line and told me he was a hunter… truth is, I was relieved."

Dean's eyebrows rose. Relief wasn't the standard reaction of the normal human population to hunters.

"Ever since my parents… I was never an overly-trusting person, even before – I can't even tell you how odd it is for me to hit it off with anyone the way I did with Sam – but after I saw my parents turn into monsters… it really screwed me up. I mean, you learn about watching out for psychos and rapists, or not getting screwed over by a salesman in the used car lot, but how the hell do you protect yourself against your loved ones turning into demons? You just… I couldn't really deal with that."

"Well," Dean hedged, "you seem fairly with it now." Dean had seen enough traumatized family members of demon-possession victims to know.

Zoë gave a self-deprecating snort. "I applied myself to making something good come out of it. If I didn't, I'd lose it. Once I found out what kind of evil is out there, I realized I can't be the only one who's been through this. So I figured psychiatry. I can't hunt demons, but maybe I can help the people who are left behind. Like I was."

"I still don't see how this has anything to do with an invitation to move in," Dean pointed out, even as he favored Zoë with a small smile to let her know that he thought her cause was worthy and noble. Victims of the supernatural were the ultimate in overlooked. If they did look for help, they were more likely to end up in a nut hut for babbling about demons. So even if Dean wasn't exactly on board with the idea of living with Zoë, he still admired her own way of saving people. It was an accountability most didn't take upon themselves.

"After her parents died, Zoë got the house," Sam said.

"It's paid for, but just the bills on upkeep are hard for me to make, especially with school. I would have taken in a roommate before now, but after my parents… I just didn't trust living with people. What if it happened again? I don't think I could ever stop watching for their eyes to turn black. But _hunters_… I might actually be able to sleep again with hunters in the house."

"And since I'll be working, I can help with the bills," Sam chimed in. "And we could ward up that house with everything we know. We can help her and she'll be helping us."

Just then, the food arrived, which killed the conversation for the time being. Dean looked down at the twin orders, two burgers with a side of curly fries each. He waited until the waitress left two glasses of soda in front of the plates and walked away before he looked toward Zoë. "Could you give me and my brother a minute?"

"Sure." She gave Sam a smile, reached out to briefly touch his arm, and then she got up and left the table.

When Sam turned to face his brother after watching Zoë leave, Dean was giving Sam a very hard look. While Sam squirmed, Dean just continued to stare. Finally, Sam cracked. "It could work."

"What's wrong with you? I swear, you're like a freaking plant. We stay still too long and you try to put down roots."

"What's so wrong with that? What's wrong with wanting stability and routine and a _life_?"

"We've had this conversation before, Sam. So many times. Dad's had it with you, too." Conversations, screaming matches, whatever. Dean studied Sam critically. "Honestly, I thought you'd given up on that pipe dream. I thought you knew better after…" Dean couldn't quite bring himself to throw Jessica in Sam's face. From the stricken look on his younger brother's face, he didn't have to for Sam to know where the sentence was going.

"This is different," Sam argued. "It's not like before. Zoë knows the truth, she knows about what's out there. She's not looking for apple-pie normal; she just wants to feel safe. We can't offer normal, I know that, but we can provide security. And that's all she's asking of us."

For a second, Dean just sat quietly, staring down his brother. "You hot for this chick, is that what this is about?"

Sam scowled mightily. "Yeah, I like her. I like her a lot. So?"

"So… you're letting your downstairs brain make upstairs brain decisions."

"Like you're one to talk. But it's not just about that."

"Oh really… then what is it about?"

"The fact that there hasn't been a hunt in months. Nothing. We've been sitting around on our asses, Dean… don't you think it's time we start considering the possibility that this lack of things to hunt isn't going to end anytime soon?"

"That's wishful thinking and you know it," Dean growled. "There are always things to hunt."

"Except there _aren't_. The way things have been lately, a rabid skunk would be exciting. Look… I get it. This lull might end. I'm not stupid. But until then, what could it hurt to set up in a place a little more comfortable than a motel? Don't you get tired of life on the road?"

Dean sat sullenly. Once, he might have been able to deny it outright and sound like he believed it. But after a year in a house with a pseudo-family, he got to see the appeal. Even if it was the wrong family and Dean never felt like it was right for him, he got to like the concept.

"And we have to think about Castiel," Sam added.

That made Dean look up. "What about Cas?"

"Dude… the whole of his human experience has been lived in motels, eating fast food, and sitting in a car that drives him nuts. Doesn't he deserve better, after everything he sacrificed for us? I mean, what if he doesn't get his wings back? How can you ask him to live the kind of life we do for the rest of his human life? The guy knew _Heaven_, Dean… we can do a lot better at coming close to that for him than life on the road."

Dean stared down at Castiel's order of curly fries. The former angel had a silly fondness for them, an inexplicable preference that made Dean smile.

And the thing was, he'd like to make plans under the assumption that Castiel was going to stay. He liked that idea… probably too much, but there it was. But some higher power had yanked Cas back into the heavenly fray more than once, and Dean had no reason to doubt Castiel would get dragged back into it all again. Dean himself had sworn to get Cas back his angel groove… it was the right thing to do for Cas's sake, whether Dean was happy about that or not.

But until then, did Dean have an obligation to show Cas the best that being human had to offer? If he did, it certainly wouldn't entail crappy diner food and uncomfortable motel beds.

And Dean couldn't dismiss the fact that, truth of the matter was, Sam didn't need Dean's _permission_to do anything. He was a grown – overgrown – man, and if Dean really dug in his heels and found out this was something Sam desperately wanted to do, there was always the possibility Sam would tell Dean to screw himself and do it anyway. It wouldn't be the first time Sam went against his family's will to exert his own. Dean didn't think this Sam, who'd been through so much with Dean in the last few years, would do that… but there was forever that rebellious streak in Sam that must not unwatched go. So the question came down to: was Dean ready to split up from his brother, the two of them following separate paths, over this?

No.

Still, he could hardly believe his own ears when he heard his voice distinctly saying, "Ah, fine… what the hell."

Obviously, Sam could hardly believe his ears, either. "Really?"

"As a _temporary_thing, just while we're waiting for our next hunt…" But even as he said it, he could tell it had the potential to be a huge fucking lie. At least for Sam. Dean knew his brother, he knew when Sam was smitten or on his way to it, and Sam was headed that way with a skip in his step. And for once, Dean didn't really know how to tell Sam he couldn't have it. Sam had given his life and his soul to save the world… who was Dean to tell him this girl Zoë was more reward than he had right to have?

And the list of women out there who not only knew who hunters were, but who would welcome their presence in their home… well, Sam could probably look a long time for another Zoë to turn up. It was probably a one in a million chance that they met like they did.

Then Dean was sitting opposite one beaming Sam Winchester. "This is going to be great, Dean, you'll see. It'll work. I know it'll work."

Sam sounded so eager, and Dean smiled faintly. It was little kid Sammy, the voice might have broken long ago but Dean would never forget that childish enthusiasm that came bubbling up out of his younger brother.

"And really, this is going to be better for Castiel," Sam added, because he knew his brother and the way to win him over; not by making issues of Dean's needs, but those of someone Dean held dear.

Which, yeah, in whatever way it might mean, Dean did care a hell of a lot about Castiel. Enough to care about what was best for him.

"Needed to change the current arrangements anyway," Dean muttered, "Stupid to pay for a room with two beds when one never gets used."

He really hadn't meant to say that out loud, and Sam's wide eyes and 'O' of a mouth didn't let him miss that it had slipped out. He forgot that Sam didn't know all about Cas sleeping in Dean's bed to fend off hellacious nightmares. Dean was about to explain himself, but it seemed like a lost cause. Sam was already on the Dean/Castiel bandwagon before the parade was even under way. Was it even worth trying to take the sexual suggestiveness out of his words (when, maybe, it actually belonged there)?

But then Sam was just smiling all sappily, brim-full of acceptance and happiness for his brother and his male partner, and Dean just wanted to drown in his Coke.

Then he wanted nothing more than to go find Cas.

To Be Continued…


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: I'm not going to lie… I breathed a sigh of relief when the reaction to Zoë in the last chapter wasn't negative. Even the readers who speculated she might be up to no good (only I know, and I'm not telling yet!, all I will say is there's more to her inclusion in this story than meets the eye ;) didn't do so with a full-on rage against her. I know well how hostile this fandom is to female OCs, so the positive response was a weight off my shoulders! And now enough chatter… on to the fic!

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><p>It might not have made much sense, but Dean always associated churches with death. It wasn't just because funerals were held there, because presumably just as many weddings were, too. Dean's brain simply didn't connect happy moments with churches. When he entered one, he felt a lot like he did walking into a morgue. Except a morgue was more honest than a church… there was nothing uncertain or ambiguous about a corpse. There was death, cold and stiff and heavy on a metal table. Churches wrapped up something so concrete in ritual and mystery. Anyone who'd had a family member die understood there was nothing mysterious about dying… it was the stark, ugly cessation of life.<p>

To Dean, churches were ultimately shrines to the preoccupation with the big question of what happened after death. It obsessed with how to get to the right train station after the big check-out. In Dean's mind, the checks and balances in life trying to win that golden ticket into Heaven at the end wasn't the point… though everyone sure seemed to think it was. The real point was the fight in life, giving one's all to defeating bad things. Not to win brownie points, but because it was the right thing to do and the natural order of things. Kill or be killed, and he'd be damned if he'd sit back and let the bad things win.

Churches made Dean particularly nervy since his salvation. Because Dean felt like a small piece of him would always be a nascent demon. He'd been on his way, down in the pits. He'd tortured souls and liked it. He'd been a monster, and he'd been good at it. Castiel could talk his 'righteous man' speech all he wanted, but Dean knew there was a dark spot of rot in his soul. And in a church, it was hard to ignore the conventional wisdom which said that Dean would go back to Hell for what he'd done. He didn't need the glaring reminder… it was hard enough to get through the days without that kind of judgmental finger-pointing.

So Dean took a steeling breath as he pushed through the doors and stepped into the church foyer. He was hit by the spaciousness of the interior and the warm amber lighting. The place was silent as a library. He moved quietly into the chapel and saw Castiel at once. The ex-angel was the only person there. The pews were lines of empty wooden rows, like the tracks at a train station lying dark in the sun. Castiel was sitting up near the front, in front of a statue of Jesus on the cross. The stained-glass windows threw rainbow-colored light into the room. The kaleidoscope of colors draped over Castiel's shoulders, painting his white jacket and black wings in hues of indigo, crimson, and gold. His head was bowed and his arms folded over the back of the pew in front of him.

Dean walked toward Castiel, a take-out container held in one hand.

He reached the pew where Castiel was sitting and stood looking down at him a moment. Cas's eyes were closed, his forehead resting on his hands. If Dean didn't know better, he'd think the guy had fallen asleep. But Dean didn't doubt Castiel's stamina for prayer.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said softly, without looking up.

"Heya, Cas." Dean sat down on the pew beside Cas, setting the take-out container in his lap as he turned to watch Cas closely. He had to tell himself that of all the places on Earth, this was probably the closest to home Castiel could be. It made him feel strange to think Cas belonged in a place where he felt so out of place.

When Cas finally opened his eyes and lifted his head to look at Dean, Dean offered a frail smirk. "Praying for your angelhood back?" He hoped Cas couldn't hear the traitorous catch in his voice, because he tried to sound casual and nonchalant.

Taken aback, Castiel blinked. "No."

That genuinely surprised Dean, because he could tell Cas was being serious. That he was, in fact, startled by the question. "Really?"

Castiel slid back on the seat to sit with his back against the wood, hands falling into his lap in the process. "Being human doesn't seem so much like a burden today as it did yesterday."

"Oh." Dean fidgeted. "So… what have you been here praying for this whole time if not your wings?"

"Clarity."

"I wouldn't be opposed to some of that myself. Any insights?"

A troubled look stole over Castiel's face. "No… I hoped I might receive some divine knowledge about what happened to me, what's become of my brothers and sisters, but I hear nothing. I never knew before how empty human praying was." Castiel lifted his eyes to the ceiling, like he could see right through it to the sky. "When I was an angel, I heard the Host. It might not have been the voice of God, but it was the voice of Heaven whispering back. But here, this…" he dropped his gaze to his hands, "there's only silence."

The guy looked so dejected that Dean shifted and put his arm around Castiel's shoulders. Any passing priest would probably be scandalized by the sight of two men damn near cuddling in his house of god, but they could kiss Dean's heathen ass. "I'm sorry. If I could make you an angel again with a wave of my hand, you'd be home before you could click your heels together."

Cas looked up at Dean, worried. "You don't want me with you anymore?"

"That's not what I mean," Dean hastened to assure him, even as he screwed his face at Castiel's choice of words. They really needed to get him a guide to speaking like a real boy. "You're my friend, Cas. My best friend, since you can't really count brothers. I don't want you going anywhere – I happen to like you right here – but when you have a best friend, you want what's best for them. What I want doesn't matter."

"It matters," Castiel said gravely.

He didn't know how to respond to that. So he didn't. Instead, he said, "You miss being an angel… don't deny it."

Castiel sighed. "I don't deny it. But there are things about being here, with you… I would miss them if I went back."

"Welcome to the delightfully human dilemma of the no-win scenario," Dean teased gently.

Cas let loose a dry chuckle and leaned into Dean's side.

They remained like that for a while, sitting side-by-side in the splash of colors pouring through the windows. Eventually, Castiel asked lowly, "What _do_you want, Dean?"

Dean tensed immediately. Cas must have felt it, as he drew back to look at Dean.

"I don't know…" Dean answered uncomfortably, "I sort of learned to stop wanting. No disappointment that way."

Castiel frowned and cocked his head as he tried to dissect that concept. He obviously didn't think very highly of it. Then he asked, "Given time, could you remember how to want?"

"I don't…" Dean stumbled with how to explain how he felt. "Wanting is a dangerous thing. Soon as there's something you want, you're compromised. You'll tailor all of your choices toward getting whatever it is you want. You might make bad choices. Once, all I wanted was to keep Sam safe. We all know where that led."

Castiel pursed his lips as he gave Dean's words way more thought than they deserved. "I think that philosophy must be one that takes a long time to learn. Because I want."

Dean's stomach flipped. "Yeah… I know you do," he whispered hoarsely.

Cas looked him in the eye, his gaze deep and unwavering. Dean found himself trapped returning the stare, just as unblinking and invested. He had the sudden thought that if he didn't do something, one of them would kiss the other. And he really didn't know which one of them would be the instigator.

So he deflected like a pro. "That's why I brought you this." Dean held the take-out container out to Cas with a cheerful smile.

Castiel looked down at the white styrofoam box with a wrinkle of displeasure appearing on his nose. "I don't think you're supposed to bring food in here."

"It's a burger and curly fries."

Despite his chastisement, Castiel started to smile.

"Ah, see? Called it."

Castiel accepted the box with both hands, amusement curling his lips. "Thank you, Dean."

"No sweat… though we are going to need to have a talk, sooner or later, about your diet. You tell Sam I told you this and I'll leave your ass on the side of the road, but you're going to have to take a little more care with what you put in that body. It's not superhuman anymore. Wouldn't hurt you to start exercising, either," Dean gave Cas a small, playful nudge in the gut, "you wouldn't want to get fat, would you?"

"Would it upset you if I did?"

That drew Dean up short. It blew Dean's mind just how much Castiel valued Dean's opinion in the minutia of his new human life. And it made him uncomfortable, because he was the last person who deserved that kind of high regard… especially from the likes of Castiel.

"I wouldn't like you any less for packing on a few pounds, if that's what you mean. I just want you to be healthy. But that doesn't mean you can't enjoy a juicy burger now and then."

"And curly fries?"

Dean laughed. "Curly fries are definitely one of the perks."

Castiel hummed under his breath. "I remember you talking to me before about perks. At the time, you were referring to sex."

"Uh, yeah… sex is awesome." Dean swallowed thickly and averted his eyes… only to find he couldn't keep them off Cas for long, and in the next minute he was looking back at the fallen angel. Castiel was sitting close, his eyes trained intently on Dean's mouth. He didn't know enough about being human to have any concept of subtlety.

Just the scrutiny made Dean lick his lips. Castiel's eyes tracked the peek of his tongue like a cat stalking a grounded bird. It made Dean's pulse quicken, hyperaware of the laser-like attention focused on him… which he couldn't say he minded.

He was such a liar, and if Cas believed him when he said he didn't want things, then Cas was either naïve or stupid. And Dean knew Cas was neither… not when it came to unraveling the stitching that made Dean Winchester. Which meant Castiel knew damn well that Dean sorta kinda wanted Cas the same way Castiel wanted Dean.

Which only proved Dean's point about wanting. Wanting was dangerous. Wanting complicated everything. Before he wanted Castiel, their relationship had made sense and it worked. Now he didn't even know what it was anymore. Much less where it was going.

The only thing he knew was that he couldn't let himself believe Castiel would stay like this. It would devastate him if he did, if he let himself return Cas's feelings, and then later was faced with those same blues eyes looking back at him with that alien, angel distance that no human could ever hope to span.

So Dean spoke up to break the building tension between them. "Sam, uh… say, Cas, how would you feel about getting out of the motel?"

Castiel's heated presence crowding Dean's space grew cold and shrank back as Cas shifted away. "Oh… we're going back on the road?" His reluctance to climb back in the car was palpable. Dean felt the slight to his baby like it was an insult hurled at him personally, but he tried not to let it show.

"Just enough to get us across town. Sam's got a new girlfriend or some shit, and she's offering us a place to crash for a while. I know you don't know any different, but motels don't offer much as far as creature comforts go. Believe it or not, that bleached-to-hell smell isn't actually a normal bed smell for most humans.

"It wouldn't be permanent or anything, but for now, a house sure beats grungy motels. How does that sound to you?"

"I think it's good that Sam's found a companion."

Dean rolled his eyes. "That's not exactly the part I was asking about."

"I'll go wherever you go, Dean."

"That's… Cas, you're human now. For now. Flex that free will a little. Don't go anywhere just because I tell you to. Go or don't go because that's what you want."

"I _want_to be with you. I'll go where you go for as long as you'll have me."

Dean couldn't find his voice for a dumbstruck moment. There was such naked need and desperation in Castiel's expression that Dean was reaching out for his shoulder before he could really think about his actions. He clasped Cas on the shoulder, gave it a squeeze, and said, "I'm not going to ditch you. That's a promise." God might have cut and run on Cas, but Dean had no intention of following suit. No matter what their friendship morphed into in the end, Dean meant to keep his promise.

Cas offered up a small, warm smile. "That is very comforting to hear," he said softly.

Dean's pulse quickened. He sat back and cleared his throat. "Come on… let's go get our things and check out of the roach motel."

Castiel stood with Dean and accompanied him out of the church, box of curly fries and burger in hand.

To Be Continued…


	18. Chapter 18

"So… this is my house," Zoë said as she escorted the Winchester brothers and Castiel into her two-story home. "Uh, let's see… first floor is living room, kitchen, dining room, and there's a half-bath down the hall to the left."

Sam stepped in and to the side to stand next to Zoë while Dean and Cas dropped their duffels on the floor in the foyer and looked around at their new accommodations. Dean had a sense of déjà vu. It wasn't so very different from Lisa's house. Apparently, Lisa and Zoë's parents had very similar tastes in décor. For some reason, Dean had been expecting nauseating floral-pattern couches and old-lady lampshades. It would have been easier to keep this place in the 'temporary lodging' category if it had been an ad for assisted living, but it looked dangerously like the place Dean had learned to call home once.

"Second floor are the bedrooms," Zoë continued the verbal tour. "There's a bathroom in the hallway and one attached to the master bedroom. My room's the last one on the right, but the master bedroom's free. The third bedroom is really a library, but there's an inflatable mattress we can pull out that we always kept on hand for company. It should work all right… at least until we can set up something more permanent. I guess you guys can flip a coin to see who crashes on the couch."

"Don't bother, Cas and I share a bed," Dean said.

Castiel turned a quick look on Dean, for he'd been warned (on penalty of sleeping in the car) never to mention that in Sam's hearing, but Dean just gave Cas a little smile to let him know everything was fine. Cas relaxed at once and returned his attention to looking around.

"Great, then we have just enough rooms for everyone," Zoë said cheerfully.

"Zo… you didn't move into the master bedroom after…?" Sam asked in a careful, gentle voice.

Zoë grimaced, though she did try to make a smile out of it. "I… I couldn't. That's been my parents' room my entire life. I just… I couldn't be in there. They may be dead, but they're still in there… if that makes any sense."

"Yeah. Yeah, it does," Sam cooed.

Dean rolled his eyes.

"Since there's two of you and one of me," Sam said as he turned to Dean and Castiel, "you two can take the master bedroom." And Dean could read in Sam's tone and expression what he really meant… if all went well, Sam wouldn't be sleeping in the library much, anyway. Never let it be said that, girl-man though he was, Sam didn't have a bit of the old Winchester horn-dog in him. Dean winked at Sam and waggled his eyebrows, because he wasn't going to let that go without a good taunting, and Sam predictably blushed.

"Thank you, Sam," Cas answered.

"You're welcome, Castiel," Sam replied with a deliberate 'at least one of you isn't a jerk' look at Dean.

The next one to speak was Zoë. "I hate to run out on you guys without properly showing you around, but I need to get across town, like, ten minutes ago. I have a study group set up; big test tomorrow… I really can't afford to miss it. It'll probably be really late before I get home. So just… settle in, make yourselves at home. Help yourselves to anything in the kitchen." Her look hardened, shifting from civilian to survivor in a sleek second. "And as far as making this house safe goes, feel free to paint, burn, or carve anything you need to into the walls, the floor, the ceiling… _seriously_, guys, free rein."

"We'll make it so nothing would think of coming within a hundred feet of this place," Sam promised.

Zoë visibly took comfort from that vow. She took a deep breath, smiled, and nodded. "Okay… great. And if I haven't said so before, thank you guys for this. Really." She sidled up to Sam. "I'll see you later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Sam answered, then he bent down while Zoë stood on her toes so they could exchange a brief kiss. Dean thought it was full of awkward. The height difference was very nearly ridiculous, but Dean figured that's the price his brother paid for being a human giraffe.

With a rushed but genial farewell to Dean and Castiel, Zoë was out the door, leaving the three men alone in their new residence.

Cas turned away from looking at the front door to say to Sam, "She seems very nice."

That made Sam smile dopily.

Dean was going to have to stage an intervention. "So… what say we dump our stuff upstairs and get started warding this place?"

"Uh… actually, I've got to get to work."

Dean just looked pointedly at Sam.

"Dude, what? I can't not show on my first day. Besides, you and Castiel can handle wards. I have the utmost confidence in you two. And, uh, Dean… I need to borrow the car."

Dean glowered at Sam a moment before he fished the keys out of his pocket and tossed them to his brother. "You put a scratch on her…"

"I'm dead, I know." Sam headed for the door. "Have fun, you two." Then Sam, too, was gone. Leaving Dean and Cas standing alone in the empty house.

"Well," Dean said, "come on, Cas. Let's drop our stuff and start shoring up the defenses on this place."

* * *

><p>Turning the Harrison home into a supernatural Fort Knox took a solid four hours of work for both Dean and Castiel. While there were many things Dean wouldn't trust Cas to know how to do now that he was human, wards were still well within his range of expertise. Dean just made a point to be clear on the 'no blood-spells' policy. Cas was too used to just opening a vein whenever a handier painting medium wasn't around, and as an angel that was fine, but as a human not so much.<p>

Dean took downstairs and Castiel took upstairs, the two crossing ways now and then throughout the hours. By the time they were finished, every door into the house had a large devil's trap carved into the hardwood floors. Dean found a can of black paint in the garage, and on the ceiling above every window was another devil's trap in thick black paint. The salt lines at windows and doors alike were double-checked and brought up to hunter standards. A devil's trap was painted in front of the fireplace, and the iron pokers on the rack to its side were distributed in handy locations throughout the house. So were ziploc bags of salt. The kitchen drawers were raided for the good silver; the knives went MIA to be relocated, one in every room.

There were still a few things that might be done to safeguard the place even better, but Dean thought they'd done a damn good job for a single afternoon using what they had on hand. Dean wondered how open to the idea of tattoos Zoë was; if she wasn't opposed, she ought to get her own anti-possession tattoo. For that matter, maybe Cas should, too.

But that, again, assumed Castiel's human state was permanent, and Dean knew he was just daydreaming.

It was about seven in the evening when Castiel came tromping down the stairs. Dean turned and asked before he could even see Cas, "You finished up there?"

"Yes… as much as I can do." Castiel came around the corner and Dean laughed.

Castiel frowned. "What's so funny?"

"You got a little paint on you." 'A little' was being generous. It looked like Castiel had wrestled with the brush… and lost. The right side of his face, neck, and shirt were smeared with black paint. It looked like it had even gotten in his hair. The perturbed look Castiel was giving Dean only made the scene funnier. Dean laughed louder. "How'd you get paint all over yourself?"

Castiel looked down at his right hand and the offending paintbrush he still held. In addition to his face, Castiel had paint all over his hands and patches on his thermal sleeves, but Dean could understand those. He himself had paint on his hands and arms. But certainly not on his face.

"I was standing on a chair painting a trap over one of the bedroom windows when one of the legs of the chair broke."

"You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" He was actually worried about that… what would Castiel know about tending to injuries? He used to just angel mojo them away. That was the reason Dean had given Castiel the second floor to do; it meant Dean would be the one wielding knives for carving into the floors. The last time Dean had seen Castiel with a blade that wasn't an angel-killing scimitar, it had been the box cutter he'd used to carve into his own chest.

"No," Castiel answered in exasperation, "I caught myself on the window frame, but I dropped the brush on myself in the process." Cas tried to scrub at his cheek to wipe off the paint, but it had clearly dried enough to stick through Castiel's vigorous rubbing.

With a chuckle, Dean walked up to Cas and took the brush from him. Castiel looked up at Dean with a definite pout, and the black paint only made the blue of Castiel's eyes brighter and richer.

"Sorry, Cas, but this calls for a shower." Dean dropped Castiel's brush into the empty paint can by the front door. He straightened up and clasped his arm around Castiel's shoulders. "There are two bathrooms upstairs… I'll take the hallway, you can use the one in the bedroom, then what say later we figure out dinner?"

"We don't have a car," Cas pointed out.

"No… but we were given permission to ransack the kitchen. Women usually have some decent food on hand, so surely Zoë will have something we could throw together. I'm actually not a bad cook, I'll have you know."

"I don't doubt that."

"Good… oh, wait!" Dean started to pat down his pockets.

"What are you looking for?"

"My phone… I _have_to take a picture of you like this."

For a second, Castiel just stood there stoically. Then he started to smile. "Your sense of play is quite infectious." Then Castiel's eyes dropped and held too keenly on the paint can by the door. His soft smile turned wicked.

"Oh no," Dean took a step back. "I know that look, and no way. Painting devil's traps are one thing, but Zoë would probably put one of those silver knives to good use if we got paint all over her house."

Castiel deflated a little and nodded sincerely. "Of course, you're right."

"Damn right… so, showers first, then food." When Castiel nodded his understanding, Dean habitually wiped his dirty hands on his pants and started for the stairs. After a few seconds, he heard Castiel's footsteps as he followed him.

The footfalls quickened, catching Castiel up to Dean on the stairs in only a few seconds. The haste was unnecessary and caught Dean's attention. Puzzled, Dean started to turn, "Cas, what are you –"

A slimy, cool hand squished against his neck and smeared up along his jaw to his cheek as he turned into it. Dean flinched back reflexively. His eyes opened wide, stunned, when he turned all the way around and saw Cas looking up at him from the next step down, way up in his personal space as usual and downright grinning as he brandishing a black hand completely covered in paint.

Dean brought up a hand and wiped at his cheek. It came away streaked with black paint.

"Did you just… you…" Dean stammered incredulously.

"Now I know why you laughed," Castiel said cheekily, "you look very humorous, Dean."

Shock broke and Dean guffawed. "You nerdy little dick!" With that, Dean reached forward with his wet hand to give Cas a taste of his own medicine. But Castiel ducked away and raced up the stairs with a speed and agility Dean never would have expected. Castiel, badass angel of the lord, always strode around so somberly, but Cas guilty of mischief bounded like a freaking lemur.

Dean hauled ass up the stairs after him. "Get your feathery ass back here!"

Castiel reached the top of the stairs a few beats ahead of Dean and made for the master bedroom. Dean swung around the banister and launched himself after Cas. Cas threw a look over his shoulder, saw Dean in hot pursuit… and laughed.

Without warning, Cas ground to an absolute halt in the middle of the hallway, allowing Dean to catch him. Castiel was turning to face Dean just as Dean reached out and caught both of Castiel's wrists in his hands, painting one with a faint black handprint. When Cas struggled, Dean held them tighter, pinning Castiel's arms to his own chest. Castiel wriggled and tugged, the whole time beaming like the fucking sun… then he laughed again.

The angel had never laughed before. He'd huff-chuckled, he'd smirked, he'd very nearly snorted, but this was full-blown laughter. It was a really pretty awesome sound, and Dean never would have dreamed he'd hear it in a million years.

Obviously, neither did Cas. As soon as he laughed again, Castiel sucked in a breath, held it, and looked up at Dean like he didn't know if he should be freaking out or not.

Dean laughed. "Dude, you just _laughed_."

"Laughed…" Castiel mulled over the word. Then he grinned. "That felt very good."

"Yeah, laughing usually does."

"I didn't expect it to be so wonderful."

Dean's chest was tightening up around his lungs. "Yeah, it's pretty fucking awesome."

Castiel flashed another blinding smile, like a kid who'd just learned how to use the swing all by himself for the first time and was so damn proud, and the sight just about knocked the wind out of Dean. He wasn't sure if he held onto Cas to restrain him or to support himself.

"I want to do that again," Cas confessed lowly.

Dean was still trying to catch his breath from the sprint up the stairs. So was Cas. They were both panting. They both wore the ghosts of smiles, residue from grins of only seconds ago before the realization of how closely they stood caught up to them. Dean had Castiel's wrists in his hands, held close to his chest… which in turn were pinned to the center of Castiel's chest. They were so close, Dean could feel Castiel's body heat. When he had the breath to breathe through his nose, he could smell Castiel all around him. No doubt Castiel noticed all the same things about Dean.

Consciously, Dean loosened his grip on Castiel's wrists. "Laughter is definitely another human perk." He was surprised at how husky his voice came out sounding.

Castiel hummed happily under his breath. The sound shot straight down to the pit of Dean's stomach. He let go of Cas and took a step away. "Go get cleaned up."

Castiel's hands twitched in Dean's direction in an aborted motion, like what he really wanted to do was grab Dean and pull him in close again, but he held himself back at the last second and merely nodded. Then he turned and went into the master bedroom where Dean and Cas's bags lay in a heap on the floor.

For a second, Dean just stood in the hall and took deep breaths. Then he turned and went into the hallway bathroom, opposite the library (which was between the master bedroom and Zoë's room). He stripped out of his clothes, turned on the water, and stepped into the shower. Dean braced one arm against the wall and let his chin dip toward his chest. His head was swimming, his ears still ringing with the sound of Castiel's laugh. It was trapped in his memories and building strength, thrumming through his bloodstream and tickling his nerves until he felt like he was going to just fly apart at the very seams that Castiel had so painstakingly stitched together years ago. He felt like he'd touched a live wire, and voltage was still zinging through his body.

Dean cracked his eyes open and confirmed the treacherous suspicion that had been chanting in the back of his mind. He was aroused. Watching Castiel laugh for the first time had turned him on. Dean didn't know if he was scared by that fact or just frustrated. He'd been trying so hard to convince himself that he didn't want Castiel… not like that. Not really. But that, just now… yeah, it was Dean fully awake and aware and getting hot and bothered by Castiel. Castiel, former and future angel of the lord.

Dean closed his free hand into a fist and clenched it tight… it was the only way he could stop himself from taking himself in hand and jerking off to thoughts of Castiel. Because once he did that, he would cross some kind of line. Rubicon, thy name is whacking off while thinking of Castiel.

Instead, and very deliberately, Dean reached down and turned down the hot water.

To Be Continued…


	19. Chapter 19

In his haste to take a cold shower, Dean didn't realize he didn't have any clothes to change into until he stepped out of the shower dripping wet. He fetched a towel out of the cabinet inside the bathroom and wrapped it around his waist. Then he had no choice but to go into the bedroom he'd be sharing with Cas. Dean swallowed at the thought. How the hell could he do this, share a room and a bed with the guy, and things not get out of hand? Of course, Sam would say (and had said) go for it, but he had no clue. This was different, this was _Cas_.

Dean collected himself and stepped out into the hallway. He padded barefoot across the floor to the master bedroom and crept inside. The door to the bathroom was open just a crack, and the sound of water running was spilling out, along with a tropical rainforest amount of steam. Dean sighed in relief as he made his way to his duffel to find some clothes.

He'd only managed to step into a pair of underwear when the water in the bathroom shut off.

Cursing to himself, Dean hurried to put on a pair of jeans. He only just got them over his hips when the bathroom door opened and Castiel came out in a billow of steam. He had a towel in hand that he no doubt meant to wrap around his waist but as yet hadn't. It just barely covered Cas's crotch, so it did conceal the important bits, but gave Dean a far too intimate look at the line of Castiel's flank.

Dean's mouth went dry… or maybe it actually watered. It was hard to tell with a short-circuiting brain.

Cas noticed Dean in the room and stopped. Dean, like an idiot, could only stand there and stare back at Cas. He should probably be doing something… putting on more clothes, taking some clothes off, running away, grabbing hold of Cas and throwing him down on the bed… yeah, one of those things should definitely be happening. But nope, Dean just stood there like an idiot.

Cas didn't seem to think Dean was being idiotic. He cocked his head slightly and smiled gently, like Cas could see into Dean's nonsensical brain and found the debris inside endearing.

Then Cas was moving straight toward Dean, and a rising sense of imminence welled up in Dean the closer he came. He was barely breathing when Cas stopped just in front of Dean, dropped his towel, then sank down to the floor.

Dean squeaked.

Castiel looked up at Dean from where he was crouched at the duffels, digging through his until he found a pair of underwear. He met Dean's eyes, looking up at him from one knee, and the light in those blue irises subtly shifted. Just barely, Cas smirked.

That sent a jolt through Dean so strong he took a half-step back. That fucker knew exactly what he was doing, what it was doing to Dean, and he was toying with him. Castiel was fucking screwing around with him.

Castiel unfurled from the floor and stepped into his underwear, taking his sweet-ass time. Speaking of sweet ass… Dean stole a peek.

When Castiel had his underwear on, he stood up straight and turned to deliberately face Dean.

There was no way to know who actually moved first. Maybe they both moved at the same time. All Dean knew was that one second he was feasting his eyes on expanses of hot, glistening, naked Castiel skin, then the next it was crushed against him as their mouths met in a fierce kiss.

It was like a grenade went off and the barricades came crashing down.

Hands clutched at bare skin hungrily and Dean felt like he couldn't gulp for breath without sucking on Castiel's tongue. Castiel's hands were in Dean's hair, carding through it between fisting and pulling. Castiel pulled away for only a second, but it was enough for Dean to abandon his mouth and launch an assault on Cas's throat. Dean nipped and licked at Castiel's neck, shocked and excited by the growl it elicited from the ex-angel. Cas's right hand found its way unerringly to the handprint mark on Dean's shoulder and clamped down on his spot. Dean jolted at the touch, biting down on the exposed skin of Castiel's throat accidentally. Castiel gasped and arched his entire body into Dean, bringing their frames deliciously flush. Their mutual arousal became a foregone fact.

Dean pushed and manhandled Cas, who gave ground only with resistance and gave Dean plenty of cause to lose track of what he was doing. Dean did, more than once, until finally one of his persistent shoves sent Cas toppling on to the bed. Cas flopped down on his back and looked up at Dean, stunned and feral.

Before Dean could take it upon himself to join him on the bed, Castiel sat up, grabbed Dean around the hips, and yanked him down. The guy was stronger than he looked, especially when properly motivated. Dean fell on to the mattress with a grunt, and almost in a blur of movement Castiel had manhandled _him_. Dean was pushed flat on his back and suddenly Cas was straddling his hips, staring down at him intensely.

Like a reflex, Dean's right hand came to rest on Castiel's thigh. It felt different than a woman's… more muscle and sinew, not as soft, and covered in hair, but strangely enough Dean was totally, completely okay with that.

Castiel's fingers trailed down Dean's chest and stomach, exploring the hunter's body by touch. When Castiel's inquisitive hands drifted lower, Dean's hips bucked up into the touch. Cas stopped, startled, then he grinned.

Feeling like this was becoming one-sided, Dean sat up, grabbed the back of Castiel's neck, and pulled him down into a fierce kiss. Cas obliged eagerly, wriggling on top of Dean and growling in the back of his throat.

While he had Castiel distracted, Dean flipped him. Cas was on his back in the next instant, and Dean was all over him immediately. He pressed the full length of their bodies together while they continued their kiss that had almost become a game of chicken. Who would blink first?

Hands were clutching at Dean's back, clinging with a strength that was sure to leave bruises. Dean bit down gently on Castiel's bottom lip. Cas had responded quite nicely to a love-bite on the neck, so Dean wanted to see what a little lip-nibbling would do for him. Castiel made a strangled sound and gave as good as he got, returning the gesture when next their mouths readjusted for a deeper kiss.

Dean realized his body was rocking, faintly and steadily so he didn't even notice at first, but hips finding a rhythm all the same. Castiel was moving under him, matching his pace, hips rolling just as lazily. Dean suspected the hip action was completely instinctive. It seemed that Castiel was still entirely too preoccupied with what was going on with his mouth. Dean would do something about that. He slipped a hand down between their bodies, wedged it between their rolling hips, and gave Cas a firm stroke through his underwear.

The effect was instantaneous. Cas gasped audibly and arched his back hard into Dean's touch, throwing his head back and barking something Dean couldn't recognize. One of his arms flung out and over his head and his hand thumped against the headboard, as if Cas needed a bracing hold on the world to keep from flying off the edge.

"Like that, huh?" Dean said cockily.

Castiel was shaking under him, gasping and muttering gibberish. Dean might as well have touched him with a taser gun. Always one to press his advantage, Dean kept his hand right where it was, doing just what it was doing to make Cas unintelligible, and he swooped down to nip at Castiel's bared throat.

Castiel's hands found Dean's hair blindly, his hips jerked up into Dean's hand in animalistic need, and he kept speaking nonsense.

No… not nonsense… _Enochian_.

Dean practically flew off of Cas and damn near entirely off the bed. He sat perched on its edge, hands clutching at the edge of the mattress in a death grip while he fought to get his breathing and racing heart under control. And his hard-on, too… but for the moment, he'd settle for feeling like he wasn't about to have a heart attack. It wasn't just arousal setting him on a hair trigger… it was honest, gut-wrenching panic.

For a few heavy seconds, there was only the sound of their shared heavy breathing. Dean clenched his eyes closed and fought to bring his body back under his command.

Then, cutting through Dean like a razor, came Castiel's wrecked voice. "Dean… Dean, what…?"

Dean swallowed thickly and took a deep breath, one after another. When he was brave enough to open his eyes – once he felt pretty sure he wouldn't shatter at just one look at Cas – he glanced behind him at the bed. Castiel was laid out, his face and upper chest flushed pink, hair a sexy disaster, pupils utterly blown, and he looked god damn ravishing. Dean ached to touch. To stop himself, he gripped the mattress even tighter until his knuckles turned white.

Castiel looked at him, confused and flustered, then he propped himself up with his elbows behind him. "Dean? What's wrong?"

Dean shook his head. "We're… we can't do this, Cas."

With a cant of his head, Castiel looked down at his own erection, then pointedly at Dean's. "I would say that we can."

"No, I mean… yeah, but… we _could_, but we _shouldn't_."

At that, Castiel's expression fell. He frowned, clearly hurt. Then he was sitting up and scooting over to sit next to Dean on the edge of the bed. Dean tensed up as Cas came near him, not trusting Cas not to jump him. Or him not to jump Cas. Someone was in real danger of being jumped, in any case.

But Castiel sat with his hands in lap, and when he spoke next it was in that 'I'd go to Hell and back for you… again' gravity of voice. "Why not, Dean? Why can't we? Do you not want to?"

Dean's voice broke on a laugh. "Are you fucking kidding me? Do I…" Dean waved one hand in the general direction of his groin. "Hell fucking yeah, I _want_to."

"Then why can't we?" Castiel narrowed his eyes. "Is it because this form is male? Does that repulse you?"

"Do I look repulsed to you?" Dean looked pointedly at his crotch and its betrayal of his definite interest. "Did I _feel_repulsed to you?" Dean shook his head. "No, Cas… it's not… I'm definitely not repulsed by you." Dean couldn't believe what he said next, but it was the absolute truth (he was in this neck-deep already, might as well go there). "I think you are seriously fucking hot."

There was an exasperated and bordering-on-annoyed sigh from Cas. "Then why won't you let us happen? You know I love you, I've told you I do… what more do you want from me?"

Feeling level-headed enough to stand without his knees buckling, Dean stood and moved a few paces away from the bed. He turned to look at Cas and he felt pained and guilty at how hurt Castiel looked.

"I don't want anything from you… actually, no, the problem here is that I want too damn much."

"All things that I'm willing to give. It's yours for the taking, Dean. I'm yours if you want me."

He should not be given that kind of power of decision, it was like giving a loaded revolver to a toddler. "Stop! Quit saying that."

"What will it take to make you agreeable to this?" Castiel demanded angrily. "I would never force you to do anything you don't want to, but you just said that you _do_want to. So what will it take? What would you have me do?"

"Nothing! You… I just…" Dean raked his hands through his hair, but it only brought back the very visceral memory of when those hands had been Cas's, fisting and pulling. Dean dropped his arms to his sides and looked intently at Castiel. How the hell could he make him understand the twisted rationale holding Dean in an iron fist?

"Just tell me, Dean," Castiel said softly, like he knew Dean was struggling. And he just might know… Cas got Dean like that. It wasn't fair that the guy had literally seen into his fucking soul. Dean felt so ill-equipped to have this conversation, but it looked unavoidable. Cas did deserve an answer.

"Look, Cas… I'm not going to stand here and tell you I don't want you. Because I do. More than I ever thought I could… so much that it scares the shit out of me. And this," he gestured between them, "now, it could work."

"But…?"

Dean steeled himself. "But… you're human now, but for how long? I've seen the kind of… the kind of love angels are capable of – I haven't forgotten how things were before, when you say you were in love with me – and I can't be cool with that, Cas. Especially not after having this, us: dirty and sweaty and human. I couldn't handle going back to that and remembering it being like this. That would be too fucking hard." Dean paced the room, grasping at words to explain his fears. "And, you know, normally I'm the kind of guy who'd say take what you can get while you can get it, but this is _you_, man. You break every fucking rule I live by." Dean smiled, but it was halfway to a grimace. "Truth is, I can see me getting way too into you. Next to Sam, this could be the best fucking thing in my entire life. And I don't think I could handle losing it when you get your wings back." Dean held up a hand and hastened to add, "And I'm not asking you to forsake Heaven for me, I'm _not_. I'm not asking you to give up who and what you are. I have no right to ask that of you and I wouldn't. I'm not that big an asshole." Dean heaved out a breath. "So I can't do this with you, because I have to protect myself from fucking falling apart when you're back where you belong." When he finished, Dean sagged and felt all of his years acutely, those on Earth and the ones he accumulated in the pit.

Very slowly, Castiel stood. He approached Dean like one would a colt apt to bolt. "Dean… I _am_where I belong."

A mangled laugh came out of Dean. "Newsflash, Cas… you belong up there," Dean pointed toward the ceiling before letting his hand drop to his side. "You were meant to fly, not wallow around down here in the mud. This life is so beneath you. You're so much better than this." Dean made a vague gesture at himself as a prime example of humanity. Such as it was. Castiel would have to see Dean was right… Cas was too good to stoop so low.

A surprised and far-too-introspective look stole over Castiel's features while Dean stood there watching him.

Dean couldn't let Cas see how much this was getting to him, so he turned to stand with his back to Castiel. It didn't ease his distress any, but he figured it had to be better that Cas not have to see it. Because when it was all said and done, this wasn't Castiel's fault.

A hand came to rest lightly on Dean's shoulder, and Dean tensed like an abused dog waiting to be hit. "Dean," Castiel said gently, "you don't understand. I remember… I know why I stopped being an angel. I know why I'm here."

The hand slid smooth and soft off his shoulder, and then Dean heard that sound he'd longed to hear again and wished he would never hear again for the rest of his life. The flapping sound of wings beating the air… the sound of an angel in flight.

That was that, as the saying goes.

Dean wanted to break something, just to drown out the sound of him breaking inside. He hated himself for letting it get this bad… this far. He knew better from the outset. He knew all along this would happen. He clenched his fists so hard his fingernails dug into his palms and dipped his head toward his chest in silent agony. Castiel was gone… just like Dean knew he would be one day. He got his wings back and vanished, he…

"Brother," Castiel said in a cool, easy voice.

"It's about bloody time," the familiar accented voice of a third person in the room sounded in the tense air.

Dean whirled around and his eyes widened to see none other than Balthazar standing in the bedroom with them. The cocksure angel moved his eyes from Castiel to Dean and they twinkled in impish delight. "Why, hello, Dean!"

"What the… what the fuck are you doing here!" Dean demanded.

"Waiting for you to catch a clue… who knew it would take so long? You had me starting to seriously doubt your intelligence, Dean. Oh, and I was waiting for dear Cassie here to piece the puzzle all back together."

"Balthazar," Castiel said warningly.

"I know, I know, the human needs it spelled out for him." Balthazar stood there a second, waiting. Then he made a shooing motion. "Well, go on then, put some clothes on already. I don't have the same affinity for human flesh that my dear brother does. In fact, I'll meet you two in the kitchen. I don't need to see this." Then Balthazar was gone in a gust of wind and the beat of invisible wings.

Dean turned instantly to Cas… and noted that Castiel did not look surprised at the sudden appearance of the first angel they'd seen in months who very much still had his grace intact. "Castiel, what's going on?"

"We should dress and join Balthazar in the kitchen," Castiel said gravely.

As Castiel was moving toward his duffel, Dean's hand shot out and grabbed Cas by the arm before he could think. Once he'd grabbed him, he had no idea what to do or say. Cas looked at Dean patiently… in fact, with a patience and calm that was far too reminiscent of angel Castiel. A scream was building in the depths of Dean. He wanted laughing Castiel back.

"Cas…?" Dean asked in mounting worry.

"It's all right, Dean… Balthazar and I will explain everything." Castiel offered a weak smile that was not the least bit reassuring, but points for effort, then he gently shrugged off Dean's hold and went to put on the rest of his clothes.

Dean gaped in shock for a few seconds before he mechanically followed Castiel's lead and went to finish getting dressed. He couldn't wait to find out what the hell was going on, but part of him wanted to turn in the opposite direction of that kitchen, start walking, and never look back. And if he could manage to snag Cas on his way…

But Dean wanted this. Not for himself, but for Cas. He wanted Castiel to get his magic back.

He had to keep reminding himself of that as he braced for what he would learn when he went downstairs with Castiel.

To Be Continued…


	20. Chapter 20

The urge to about-face and haul ass out of there grew with every step Dean took toward the kitchen. He was walking ahead of Castiel, like maybe some primitive part of his brain thought he had a chance in hell of protecting Cas from being taken. Which was retarded and beside the point, because Dean knew he had to give Cas up. He had to want it, or sell the appearance that he did. It was the best thing for Castiel. If Dean knew how to do one thing, it was sacrifice for those he loved. He'd turned over an entire childhood to his father and traded his soul for his brother in the spirit of sacrifice. And he'd see Castiel on his merry way back to being an angel (even if Dean couldn't think of anything that would break him more), because it wasn't about what Dean wanted.

And maybe someday, always suffering so his loved ones could be happy would actually make him happy in turn. Not that it had worked out that way yet, but Dean didn't know any other way to be.

Even still, Dean's pace had slowed to a crawl when he was close enough to actually hear Balthazar futzing around in the kitchen. He didn't realize how much he'd slowed to a snail's pace until Castiel gently slipped his hand into Dean's and squeezed. Dean startled and glanced down at his hand tangled with Cas's. Good old Cas, not human enough to know that men didn't hold hands. Dean did not try to shake free. They continued toward the kitchen together.

When they came around the corner into the kitchen – strangely hand in hand, but Balthazar could just go suck eggs if he didn't like it, because Dean couldn't imagine holding it together right then without that grounding touch – Balthazar got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Literally. He looked up at their arrival with a chocolate chip cookie in hand.

"Ah, there you both are." He took a bite out of the cookie in his hand. He hummed in approval. "You know, I think I'm beginning to understand Gabriel's sweet tooth."

Dean bristled… more because of the angel's presence than his new appreciation for sweets, of course. "Just get to the point."

Balthazar shook his head while making a 'tsk, tsk' sound and licked some chocolate off his thumb. Dean and Castiel moved toward the kitchen table. Castiel let Dean's hand go to sit down, and Dean would not let slip how suddenly adrift and lost he felt without the touch as he sat down next to Cas. He kept a dirty, distrustful eye on Balthazar as the angel sauntered over to the table and stood opposite them.

"Well… go on, Dean. I'm sure you have plenty of questions. Or a few… not sure you have it in you to come up with enough to qualify as 'plenty'."

Actually, the first thought that ran through his head wasn't a question at all. It was a statement. 'You can't have Cas.' But that wasn't one he could ever say, so instead he blurted, "What the hell's been up with the angels and demons lately?" It wasn't a question specifically about Cas so much as the abnormal lack of hunts of late, because Dean was a hunter first and foremost, down to his bones.

Balthazar snagged a chair, spun it around, and straddled it. He propped his arms along the back and answered, "The short, sweet version? Dear old Daddy's home."

That didn't compute right away. When it did, Dean's eyes widened. "Whoa, wait. You mean _God_? God as in God is back in town?"

"The one and only Almighty," Balthazar said.

Oh. Most people would probably be having a spiritual moment at the proclamation. Dean, not so much. "Well, where the fuck has he been? We needed him years ago and, what, he just decided to go on a sabbatical?"

"Dean…" Castiel said lowly, a hint of warning in his voice.

"No, Cas," Dean interjected. "We looked for him – _you_searched for him – and all he had to say was 'you're on your own, suckers, good luck with that Apocalypse'. God's been a grade-A dick through all of this." Dean looked critically at Castiel. "I thought you'd figured that out a long time ago. Quit defending him like he's perfect."

"You practically revered John Winchester," Castiel accused with narrowed eyes. "You would never permit anyone to say such pejorative things about _your_father."

"My father was an obsessed bastard," Dean growled back.

Castiel obviously hadn't been expecting Dean to speak of John Winchester so harshly. Well, good. If it got Cas to take an honest, objective look at his own dad, it was more than worth it.

"The interesting thing about God," Balthazar said casually, "is that he doesn't have to explain himself to you, Dean. He doesn't have to explain himself to anyone. He's accountable to no one."

"Yeah, and that never leads to raging egomaniacs," Dean quipped sarcastically.

He could practically sense Castiel tense up beside him. He didn't look, however, because he was too busy watching Balthazar look peeved.

"How big is your world?" Balthazar asked sternly. "How many people does it encompass? Three? Four? Of the millions of human lives in peril all over the world, how many can you hope to have an effect upon in your lifetime? A lifetime so small that you might as well count it in eye-blinks? Hundreds, a thousand?" Balthazar's expression hardened. "Don't for once think you can comprehend what it is to be God."

"So if he can't be held accountable, how about a little responsibility? Is that too damn much to ask of the supposed creator of everything?"

"Uh… maybe you didn't notice the complete and utter lack of demons running around topside?" Balthazar said flippantly.

Dean barked out a harsh laugh. "I've been fighting demons my entire fucking life. The Apocalypse nearly went viral! You call that being responsible?"

"Dean, Dean, Dean… to God, the length of your 'entire fucking life' would be equivalent to a few things piling up while the big guy's out of the office for a day." Balthazar eyed the cookie jar fleetingly. "And it was only really on the edge of out of control for part of a year… so, if it helps you wrap your little human brain around it: God went out to lunch and came back to find a bit of a mess in his inbox."

"A mess in his inbox?" Dean yelped. "You have got to be kidding me! How many hundreds of people died while God was out getting a cheeseburger?"

With a long-suffering sigh, Balthazar turned his eyes to Castiel. "Cassie, would you mind restraining your human?"

Dean was seconds away from rising out of his chair (to do what, he didn't know – he knew what came of punching an angel in the face) when Castiel reached out and laid a hand on Dean's arm. When Dean looked in his direction, Castiel offered a faint, lop-sided smile clearly aimed at placating. Then he said, "I know it's hard for you to understand. Your frame of reference is very different."

"Don't think that's the problem," Dean grumbled crankily. "So God saunters back in and…?"

"Does a little house-cleaning, if you like," Balthazar answered with a shrug. "Swept everything that belongs in Hell or the afterlife back where it ought to be, battened down the hatches; nothing serious should be squirming its way out again for another couple of millennia.

"God's locks on the supernatural are powerful, but Lucifer's subjects are rabid and relentless. They'll chisel their way out again, some day. Eventually, the resistance of enough souls to moving on after death will weaken the barrier between the living and dead and ghosts will become a nuisance again. Of course, none of this will happen in your lifetime."

The implications of that hit Dean like a sledgehammer to the chest. He realized with a strange panic that hunting was over. At least so far as it concerned Dean, who wouldn't live long enough to see it make a comeback. Balthazar said it so casually, as if he didn't appreciate what he said tore down Dean's entire existence. The only thing Dean knew how to be was a hunter. If there wouldn't be anything else to hunt for as long as he lived, what the hell was he supposed to do with himself? He'd proven himself a total failure at living as a normal human being.

A part of Dean couldn't help but think that if everything to do with the supernatural had been swept up and put away, he should have gone out with the garbage.

But something else was bothering him besides the news about the demons. A knot formed in Dean's stomach as he glanced over at Castiel. "What about the angels?"

"Ah, well, that… that's a bit more complicated."

Before Dean could demand to know more, Castiel turned in his seat to more directly face Dean and said calmly, "When God returned to Heaven, the Host was paralyzed. By the strength of his will, we became powerless, inertly waiting on his wishes.

"The instant God returned, the civil war was over." Castiel turned over his thoughts for a second. "All the angels were rallied; they presented themselves in rank for orders. I stood between angels I had only days ago been fighting to the death. Some of them I had even killed. Every angel that had died in the recent conflict was resurrected. We were there in our entirety, awaiting God's will as we did in the beginning. Only Lucifer was absent from the Host."

That sounded so completely screwy there weren't even words for it. And worse, Castiel looked completely fine with it. Dean shook his head. "I will never get you, Cas. How can you just drop everything so quickly? How could you stand to give up your cause like that, end your war against your enemies in a split-second, just because the big cheese finally decides to take an interest?"

"He's God, Dean."

And the kicker was, that would always be answer enough for Castiel. Dean knew what blind loyalty was, but the kind of unquestioning obedience Castiel had in God was beyond pathological. If the big dude told Cas to never have a thought of his own again, Castiel wouldn't think twice about obeying. It was creepy and so inhuman and Dean didn't miss any part of _that_aspect of angel Castiel.

Then a troubling thought struck him.

"So, you're telling me that even the angels that set up this mafia gang intent on burning the planet were welcomed back with open arms? Zachariah and Raphael?" The placid looks on both his companions' faces gave him his answer. "Does no one else see a huge problem with that? If they went dark side once, who's to say they won't again?"

"While the cat's away, the mice will play and conspire to destroy the world," Balthazar replied lightly.

"The angels became erratic in the absence of our heavenly father," Castiel conceded. "In the presence of God, such a slip from our true purpose would not have happened. We were created for obedience and service, Dean. We don't know anything else. When God left, a new chain of command had to be established. Without it, the angels are lost. The first to misinterpret God's will – to imagine what it would have been if he were present – touted it as God's commands." Castiel looked rueful, obviously remembering the acts he carried out when he still believed them ordained by God. "The results were misguided, but the intent was correct."

"I can't believe you said that," Dean muttered in astonishment.

"You know better than anyone the power in just a single angel. Imagine the power of thousands. It's a canon about to fire, and it has to be pointed somewhere. Those that ultimately decided which direction to point the combined might of Heaven just… made poor choices."

"That's a really callous way to put it." Dean turned his anger back on Balthazar, because it was easier to be pissed at him than at Cas. "You have any idea how many human lives were lost because of those poor choices?"

"Heaven and the angels don't fret about the loss of human life the way you mortals do," Balthazar answered. "Why would we? Think about it. Those souls that were pure got a one-way ticket to Heaven, where they get to exist for eternity in their own personal paradise. Those souls that were foul went to the pit. The Hell-bound don't concern us, and why should we mourn for those going to rest forever in the fields of the lord?"

"Because life matters!" Dean snapped.

"It does," Castiel agreed solemnly.

Balthazar rolled his eyes. "Yes… even after our father's return, Castiel hung on to some strange ideas he picked up from his time on Earth."

Dean was damn proud of Cas for that. It also led him to the burning question. "So, why is Castiel human now? Why did he fall?"

"So…" Balthazar said like one setting out to tell a story, "the angels learn to think for themselves when God steps out. Or interpret the will of God as best they could in a vacuum. Well and good without the boss there to oversee things, not so well and good when God is present." Balthazar prodded the inside of his cheek with his tongue. "You see, free thought like that – even if you'd barely consider it free thinking by human definitions – isn't an asset in an angel. And now it's become a bad habit for quite a lot of us, especially since this nasty civil war.

"You should like this, Dean. Now that God's buttoned up all the holes so nothing else sinister can crawl out of the pits and terrorize up top, humanity is going to be well and truly on its own. At least for a while… a few centuries at the least. Every angel, down to the most dewy-eyed cherub, will be put through an intense, extreme reconditioning." Balthazar frowned. "Actually, it's quite unpleasant. You don't realize how nice it is to have freedom of choice, even a little of it, until it's being stripped from you. But I suppose that opinion just proves the necessity for some rehabilitation. Free will is fine for mere humans, but among the angels it's dangerous." Balthazar looked longingly at the cookies again. "I got a reprieve from the most extensive portion of the process to tie up this little loose end down here." He sighed. "Between the three of us, I'm going to miss the luxury of choosing." Like something as simple as choosing to like chocolate chip cookies.

Dean refused to feel sorry for him, but it took a concerted effort.

"But why not Cas? Why isn't he being reset to dick angel mode?"

"Because God needed to make an example of him."

Dean shot a look over at Cas. Castiel looked grim and still.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I rebelled, Dean. I was the first angel to know that God… that even if he didn't _want_ the Apocalypse to happen, he had no desire to stop it, either. I turned against his will. Even such a permissive interpretation of his will as indifference. For, as you can well attest, God showed absolutely no desire to _stop_the Apocalypse from happening. I decided, on my own, that I would fight." Castiel looked Dean square in the eye. "The last angel who rebelled like I did was Lucifer."

"Don't you dare compare yourself to the Devil," Dean growled. "That's not even apples and oranges… that's apples and atom bombs."

"Rebellion is rebellion," Castiel replied, "and I took full responsibility for leading the army of angels who sided with me."

"So they rebelled, too!" Dean protested.

"Not really… not as I did. They still obeyed. Only they obeyed me." At Dean's aghast look, Castiel conceded, "It's a difficult distinction to explain, but it is very significant for angels. Their free choice amounted to deciding who they felt most closely carried out what would have been God's will. I knew I followed a course of my own determination."

"Hinky obedience is forgivable, after the right reprogramming regimen, but rebellion is not," Balthazar continued. "God couldn't very well overlook something like that."

"So he kicks Castiel out of Heaven?" Dean exploded. "What the fuck is wrong with God? Seriously, let me talk to this supreme jackhole for Cas."

"Like _that_would do Castiel any favors," Balthazar muttered under his breath (not nearly loudly enough to disrupt Dean's rant).

"How can he actually think Castiel deserved that kind of punishment for trying to save the world? He should be thanking Cas! If this is God's idea of justice and fairness, he can go 'breed with the mouth of a goat'! This is total bullshit!"

"Dean…"

"No, Cas. This is wrong. You know it is. You were the only angel who gave a shit about God's creations, and he fires you because you were keeping an eye on his stuff while he's gone? He should be tearing the wings off Raphael! That asshole deserves to suffer, not you!"

"Dean, please. Let me explain."

"Explain what, exactly?"

Unexpectedly, Castiel smiled. That shut Dean up more than anything, and he watched Castiel with an intensity usually reserved for life-or-death moments.

"I spoke to God," Castiel said dreamily. That soft smile was still curling his mouth up at the corners. "I stood in God's presence and heard his words in my own grace. He told me that for the sake of the Host, to reinstate any tangible sense of order, he had no choice but to cast me out for my rebellion. I understood. Truly, I did. At the time, I was doing what I thought I must, but as you are so fond of saying: the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. And as a rebel angel, that's where I should have gone. It was Lucifer's fate for essentially the same crime.

"But God is merciful. He would allow me to fall and become human instead of sharing Lucifer's fate of imprisonment in the bowels of Hell. And when my human lifespan comes to an end, I will have a place in Heaven." When Dean just continued to stare at him, Castiel grinned. "He freed me, Dean. For everything I did to preserve his work, he freed me from an existence devoted to servitude."

If Castiel had ever been akin to a slave as an angel, God had removed his chains. Only then did Dean get it. His eyes widened.

"Of course," Balthazar added, "Castiel is the only angel in the Host who would see relegation to life as a human being as anything less than a vile curse. It will do well as a cautionary tale to any angel that might think to follow his example and rebel against Heaven. Those few of us who know that Castiel doesn't really loathe this sentence won't hurry to follow in his footsteps, I can assure you." Balthazar shivered. "Just the thought of losing my wings is unbearable."

Castiel captured Dean's attention again with a light touch on his arm. "During my audience with him, God inquired if there was anything I wished to ask for, anything I desired… anything but remaining an angel. There was. You."

Balthazar snorted.

Dean didn't give a shit about Balthazar at that moment. He was locked on Castiel, his heart beginning to race. "You mean you…"

"Rather than sending me down here to be born a human, like Anna after she tore out her grace, God gave me this body… one you already knew, a face you responded to with hard-won affection. Then he dropped me outside your motel room. After that, it was up to your human free will to take me in."

"But Cas… this body, _you_… it's already in its thirties! If this human life is all you get, why wouldn't you want every possible second you could get out of it? Why would you just throw away that much of a human life?"

"For you." He said it in a voice that belied all the simplicity it suggested. "If I was sent down to be born a human, the age difference between us would be prohibitive. I couldn't have you."

"But you didn't know for a fact you would have me anyway," Dean argued. "Why didn't you flit down here and ask me first? Find out if I would be on board with this," he gestured between them, "before you made that kind of decision?"

"God didn't allow it."

All Dean could do at first was gape. Just when he thought maybe God wasn't such a total asswipe after all, Cas said something else that made Dean's opinion of the deity plummet again.

"How could you do that without knowing if there was a chance in hell _we_were even possible?" Dean asked thinly.

It was Balthazar who answered. "God asked of Castiel what he asks of any angel. Faith."

Only this time it wasn't faith in God… it was faith in Dean. Castiel had a look in his eye that told Dean that when God asked Cas what he wanted, Castiel did not hesitate. That he didn't doubt. At the moment of reckoning, Castiel had a faith and trust in Dean that Dean, tiny little human, couldn't fathom. That when God asked, Castiel displayed angel-intensity trust in Dean that was normally reserved for God alone. Dean sat back in his chair, staggered by the thought that Castiel had gambled his entire existence on blind faith in them… especially after the last couple of years that had strained their friendship to the breaking point.

But then again, maybe Castiel knew. Ever since a fallen Castiel showed up on their doorstep, Dean had been trying so hard not to give in and fall, too. Slowly but surely, every barrier he had to keep Cas at bay was coming down.

Still tongue-tied and flabbergasted, Dean took his eyes away from Cas and looked toward Balthazar again. "So what's the deal with Cas's amnesia? Why did he show up knowing little more than his name and me?"

"You see, Dean," Balthazar explained, "what Castiel asked for, it had never been done before. Not quite like this. So it took some… ingenuity on dear old Dad's part.

"If Cassie were sent down to Earth to be born a human, it would have been an even swap out, a soul for his grace. To come back more or less in the same vehicle you see before you now, Castiel's grace would have to be modified. Angels aren't physical beings… not in their natural state. So they don't have a brain, per se. Their memories are stored in their grace. Memories which Castiel would need to build a human life with you." Balthazar shrugged. "Technically, I suppose it wasn't necessary. God might have switched out Castiel's grace with a human soul and plopped him down here with no memories at all, but God was more generous than all that. Knowing how pig-headed you are, starting from scratch with Castiel might have been the death of you both.

"So God got hold of Castiel's grace and started tearing pieces away."

"What?" Dean yelped.

"Well, he had to, now, didn't he? No human body could contain an angel's grace… not without angelic powers keeping it in check. Because this," he gestured at Castiel sitting across the table, "isn't a vessel. This is one-hundred percent pure human Castiel. If God had just taken this body and crammed all of Castiel's grace in it, it would have been burned to a crisp in a nanosecond. Somehow I think you would have found that far less appealing."

Dean scowled.

"God took me and whittled my grace down to human soul proportions," Castiel explained, far too fucking calmly, if you ask Dean. It sounded a hell of a lot like mutilation to Dean. Castiel, however, didn't look at all incensed by what had been done to him.

"But that doesn't explain the amnesia," Dean groused.

"Dean, Dean, _Dean_… really, Cassie," Balthazar looked toward Castiel. "He has to have _everything_ spelled out for him. Are you certain _he_ is worth _this_?" Meaning Castiel's newly human status.

"Yes," Castiel answered simply.

Dean hoped he wasn't blushing.

"If you say so," Balthazar mumbled dubiously. Then he focused on Dean again. "To understand the memory trouble, you need to bear in mind that Castiel is thousands of years old. He had knowledge of more than you can even begin to imagine. A human brain is simply not equipped to handle that much information. His human brain needed time to acclimate. It's like filling up a water balloon. You attach it to the tap, and if you try to fill it too fast with too much, pop!"

Dean did not want to imagine Castiel's brain going 'pop'.

"So God supplied him with a few essential memories, and from there let the knowledge he could handle trickle back as he could handle it.

"We had to let Castiel's memories ease back in, and we weren't going to hit him with any of the big news upstairs until he got there first on his own. Or close enough that it wasn't likely to overload his new puny brain."

That made a certain kind of sense, in Heaven's own twisted way.

"What happened to all those pieces of Cas that God tore off?" Dean asked. He was sick to think that pieces and shards of Cas were just lying around, littering the clouds in Heaven like garbage in a back alley.

"Interesting you should ask," Balthazar said with a smirk. "Once dear Castiel here was cut down to soul-size, there were enough usable chunks of angel grace left over to construct an entirely separate human soul. It's all very much in the planning stage right now, but God has been tossing around the delightful idea of arranging a Heaven-assisted conception so he can use the leftover bits of Castiel to create a new human life.

"He and the Cupids, as you call them, want to create for Sam Winchester a son… or daughter. The cherubs have chosen some human woman – young lady by the name of Zoë Harrison, if I'm not mistaken – to become Sam's partner and the mother of his child."

Dean's jaw dropped.

"God wouldn't have bothered to arrange the match at all, really, except that it seemed only right that the newborn with a soul created out of the remnants of Castiel's grace be born into Castiel's family.

"Of course, that's only if you want that to happen," Balthazar noted. Not once did Balthazar glance toward Castiel… his eyes were locked squarely on Dean.

"What… me?" Dean asked in disbelief. "You mean God would leave that up to me?"

"God wants human choice to win out in this matter. The human race has had quite enough of Heaven's meddling to last it a while, don't you agree?"

Of course Dean did.

Balthazar watched him expectantly. "Well…?"

Dean blinked when he realized he had to make his decision right then. He was going to have to choose Sam's future for him… one guaranteed to have a wife and child, or one shrouded in the unknown. He had to decide on the spot if he wanted to keep the soul borne of Castiel's shredded grace in the family. And, last but not least, he had to decide at that very moment if he meant for Castiel to undeniably become family.

He was conscious of Castiel being very quiet beside him, acutely aware of everything Dean was being asked to decide on ridiculously short notice. He was stone-still in his effort not to influence Dean's decision in any way. But there was an aura of tension coming off him in waves that Dean felt like a storm front. This was it… this was deciding forever. Did Dean want Castiel in his life for the rest of it?

The better question might have been could he accept a life _without_Cas in it?

Dean looked up at Balthazar and said evenly, "Do it."

Castiel let loose a great sigh beside Dean even as Balthazar clapped his hands together once. "Splendid! Well, I do think that wraps up all of my remaining business down here."

Dean straightened. "So, that's it? You just disappear and… then what?"

"That, Dean, is entirely up to you. All I can tell you is that you won't be seeing another angel for the rest of your natural life… not unless you still see a bit of it in Castiel. Or in your future niece or nephew. Welcome to a supernatural-free human life."

It still felt more like shock than jubilation. Dean wondered if that would ever change for the likes of him.

Balthazar stood and made as if to leave right then, but he stopped and turned his eyes toward Castiel. His expression took on a wistful, almost remorseful look. "Goodbye, brother."

"Goodbye, Balthazar."

It was Dean's turn to go deathly quiet. Even if Dean didn't really like the guy (or any of the other angels, for that matter), he understood that Castiel was never going to see his siblings again. Not for as long as he lived, and even after that it wouldn't truly be as a brother to them anymore.

The visiting angel regarded his fallen brethren at length. "I can't help feel sorry for you."

"Don't… I have everything I've ever wanted."

"I hope you do," Balthazar said. Then he turned, went back to the cookie jar, and fished out a cookie. With a lingering bite and blissful face, he vanished in a flap of invisible wings.

Dean sagged immediately, unaware of how taut he'd been the whole time until Balthazar was gone. He wasn't really ready to deal with anything that had been revealed, but Castiel didn't wait.

"Dean…?"

"Yeah, Cas?"

After a pause, Castiel said, "That was a good thing you did for Sam."

That, at least, Dean had a reasonable explanation for. "Right down to it, it's what he's always wanted. A normal life, family… I just never thought I'd actually be able to give it to him."

"You're a good brother." Castiel's hand slid across the table toward Dean then stopped just shy of touching him, telegraphing uncertainty. "I understand what Balthazar told you might be overwhelming." Dean looked over at Castiel, who refused to meet his eyes. "I understand if, after everything you heard, you want nothing more from me than friendship." Castiel seemed to pale a little. "All I ask is for a place in your life… in whatever capacity you feel comfortable permitting me."

Even after all Castiel had given up for Dean, he would content himself with just being a close friend. He'd take whatever scrap of affection Dean would throw him and take it gladly.

Dean let loose a surprised, incredulous chuckle. That brought Castiel's gaze up to Dean.

"Cas… how could you do that? How could you give up Heaven for _me_?"

"How could I not?" Castiel asked, puzzled by the question. To him, clearly, it wasn't a question. "It was always all for you, Dean." Castiel shifted to sit sideways in the chair facing Dean. "No other angel will ever understand, no greater power but God can ever know, that I view this not as a punishment. This," Castiel smiled gently, "this is a reward."

Dean nodded absently. "You know… I actually think I get that. It's totally like Admiral Kirk getting demoted to captain."

Castiel's face screwed and he cocked his head. "I don't understand that reference."

Dean chuckled. "You will. I'll teach you."

Castiel smiled again. Dean could definitely get used to Castiel smiling.

Dean stood from the table and Castiel stood with him. They ended up standing facing each other, all up in each other's personal space, but it was their thing by now. Dean didn't even give stepping back a thought.

"Will you tell Sam?" Castiel asked. "About Zoë and his future fatherhood? About the truth about their baby?"

He considered it only fleetingly. "Nah. We've both had enough of powers beyond our control meddling with our lives. Let him have this. You and I will know… that's enough."

Castiel nodded, clearly finding great wisdom in that decision. Then he looked up searchingly at Dean. "What now?"

"Now… I guess we figure out how the hell to live normal human lives. I'm not going to lie, it's going to be a challenge for both of us. Neither of us knows how to be a normal human being." Dean smirked. "And we have to figure out a way to tell Zoë we vandalized her home for nothing."

Castiel chuckled. "When she hears that her fears of the supernatural are over, I don't think she'll mind the paint and the devil's traps so much."

"Hope not."

Castiel grew introspective and he said slowly, "Dean… I realize this might not always be easy, but I want you to know that I have no regrets. If God offered me the chance to be an angel again, I wouldn't take it. I'm where I belong."

Dean fought a dopy grin. "That makes me feel better."

Castiel nodded then turned to leave Dean alone, give him some time to soak in everything he'd learned. It was a lot to process.

"Hey, Cas?" Dean called out, stopping Castiel in his tracks.

Castiel turned. "Yes, Dean?"

"There's one more thing we might as well settle right now." With that, Dean stepped forward, curled a hand around the back of Castiel's neck, and pulled him into a deep, lazy kiss. Castiel responded immediately, melting into Dean with an abandon that had never known heartbreak, never known jealousy, never known another. Dean took everything Cas was giving him and it was almost too much to handle. No one had ever given themselves over to Dean so whole-heartedly. But that was just so Cas, all in in ways no human could really comprehend.

Castiel leaned into Dean, his hands fisting hungrily in his clothes like wings or not, he might fly if he wasn't anchored.

When they pulled apart, they remained standing scant inches from each other. Castiel's hands still tangled in Dean's shirt; Dean's hands still held Cas close at nape of neck and waist. Their breaths mingled in the warm space between them.

"Dean…" Castiel gasped breathlessly. The sound coursed through Dean's veins like liquid lightning. He couldn't imagine he would ever get tired of Castiel breathing his name like that.

"Cas, I… I think I might… you know, that I could… that maybe I…" Dean's tongue stuck in his throat and his hand pinched down on Castiel's side in frustration. He knew what he wanted to say, he knew how he felt. Why did he have to be so damaged that he couldn't fucking get the words out? If anyone deserved to hear them, it was the angel who threw away Heaven for his pathetic human ass.

Even without them, Castiel knew what Dean was trying to tell him. Castiel leaned in closer and nuzzled Dean's neck. "It's all right… I love you, too."

Dean swallowed convulsively. He felt like such an ass. Just Castiel's luck that he fell for a complete train wreck of a human being. "I'm sorry, Cas." Sorry he couldn't be worth falling. Sorry he couldn't give Castiel everything he deserved right then and there.

"It's okay, Dean… we have the rest of our lives for you to tell me. Until then," Castiel surprised Dean by turning from nuzzling the skin of his neck to nibbling, "you can just show me."

Showing Dean could do.

So they went upstairs, and Dean did.

To Be Continued…


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Now you all know just how Zoë's introduction into the lives of the Winchesters wasn't mere coincidence ;)

* * *

><p>The chore of calling Bobby and telling him everything fell to Sam, but only because after Dean told Sam, the elder Winchester declared that he was tired of telling the story. And it was quite a tale. The truth was that Sam felt wholly under-qualified for the task of passing on the latest information to Bobby. Mostly because he hardly believed it himself.<p>

And who wouldn't give it the stink-eye? After years of not giving a rat's ass, God shows up and cleans house. The demons are in the basement and the angels are in the attic, and both are staying in their respective corners for a few thousand years. All angels but one: Castiel. Castiel, apparently, was punished for rebelling against the will of Heaven by being condemned to existence as a human being, but it was a 'nudge, nudge, wink, wink' kind of punishment. And Sam supposed he could see the back-handed gift Castiel had been given of no longer living to serve another, but it still seemed kind of not-worth-it considering all the power Castiel used to possess.

Although Castiel didn't look the least bit torn up about his new and permanent human membership.

Standing in the kitchen, Sam could see out the window into the backyard where Dean and Castiel were enjoying a bright, sunny Saturday.

At the moment that Sam looked outside, Dean had just said something that amused Castiel, and the guy smiled. Really smiled… and not one of those 'twitches at the corners of his mouth' smirks the angel used to do when Dean's wry humor caught him off guard. It was a full-blown smile that crinkled at the corners of his eyes and the bridge of his nose, of all places.

What wasn't new was that enraptured look on Castiel's face when he stared at Dean. There was no point calling it anything but a stare, because Sam's eyes would water just seeing how long Castiel went without blinking when he was focused on Dean. Human Castiel actually blinked once in a while, but it did nothing to diminish the intensity of his gaze. That was the same from angel to man.

But this time, when Dean noticed the intense look aimed his way, he smiled back. It was a genuine smile… one of those rare-gift Dean Winchester sincere smiles that actually went up into his eyes and seemed to reflect off the amazing soul that only Castiel and Sam seemed to believe resided in one Dean Winchester.

Dean and Castiel seemed to have a conversation without words in the backyard while Sam looked on.

Sam found himself shaking his head. Even amid all the wild crap Dean and Castiel had told Sam, the younger Winchester still got the feeling there were some things the two of them weren't telling him. Because Castiel seemed just a little too fine with having death to look forward to, and Dean wasn't furious about it like Sam would think he ought to be. There had to be something to that, something significant, but no one was volunteering. And Sam didn't feel like prying. Dean actually seemed _happy_, and Sam wasn't about to risk messing that up by being overly-inquisitive.

"I don't believe it," Bobby grumbled in his ear after a very protracted silence.

Sam snorted, coming back to the conversation by dragging his eyes away from the odd pair out the window. "Which part? That God showed up and put all of us hunters out of a job, that the human race is up one ex-angel, or that Dean and I are staying in one place for the foreseeable future?"

"Yes."

All Sam could do was chuckle into his cell phone. He completely understood Bobby's incredulity. He was living it, and sometimes he still didn't believe it.

"Hard as it is to believe," Bobby conceded, "it's the only explanation for the dead calm lately that makes sense." A pause. "But I don't know how I can just _stop_all this. I'm too old a dog to learn new tricks."

"It's not just you," Sam answered. "There are devil's traps and repelling wards all over this house. Technically, we don't need them anymore… but neither Dean nor I are in any hurry to get rid of them. Just can't bring ourselves to undo any protection symbols."

"Huh… and how's the lady who owns the place feel about them all over her house?"

"Zoë?" Sam smirked at the memory of Zoë inspecting the hunters' artwork inflicted on her home for the first time. You'd think they'd done a surprise remodel of her kitchen for all the praise she had for the improvements. "She actually likes them. She feels better having them here. Even if Dean or I wanted to tear them down, I doubt she'd let us."

"Hmmm… well, can't fault her for being cautious, demons or no demons. So… what's the story with you and this girl? Is it serious?"

Sam felt himself blush. "Come on, Bobby. It's a little too early to tell…"

"Don't give me that bull," Bobby chided gruffly. "I know you, boy. You can get attached faster than anyone I've ever met. Guess you had to learn how, what with all the moving around you did when you were little."

"Well, there were definitely two ways to deal with the nomad life. Bond fast or never bond at all."

"Meaning there's you and there's your brother."

Sam snorted. 'If only Bobby could see Dean now,' Sam thought to himself, Dean and his fallen angel.

"Still waiting for an answer," Bobby prodded.

"Anyone ever told you that you're as bad as a gossipy old woman?" Sam teased. Then he took a moment to compose a serious answer. "I really don't know, Bobby… but I haven't felt this good about someone since…"

No one had to say the name.

"Good."

The succinct reply took Sam by surprise. "That's it? No 'it can't work, Sam' or 'stop trying so hard for something you can't have' spiel?"

"That's all Winchester talk. Never was the Singer philosophy. Even after all the grief I've gone through 'cause of my wife…" Bobby's voice seemed to catch just a little. "Well, I wouldn't give up a minute of the time I had with her.

"You deserve that."

Sam was not going to get all mushy and misty-eyed talking on the phone to Bobby Singer. He just wasn't. So he bucked up and said, "Thanks, Bobby."

"I just wish Dean could pull his head out of his ass and figure that out for himself. Kid deserves it just as much as you do."

Sam looked out the window again. Castiel had moved closer to Dean. At some point, Dean had convinced Castiel to take off his shoes and socks to stand barefoot in the grass. Dean's shoes and Castiel's were stacked together in a tangle of tongues and laces while the two men stood shoulder to shoulder with their toes splayed in the blades of green. Castiel's hand ventured out, somewhat absently, and a finger found one of the belt loops of Dean's jeans to hook on to. There it hung like an afterthought, a small anchor attaching the two of them together.

Sam smiled lopsidedly to himself. He wouldn't tell Bobby (because it wasn't his to tell), but Sam was pretty sure Dean _had_figured it out for himself. It just ended up being with someone no one would have predicted. Dean, lady's man of the century, had found his perfect match in a man who once sported wings and a halo.

Naturally Dean, being Dean, hadn't actually told Sam anything. No big gay love announcements of together forever and ever. But Dean told Sam in his own way. Three days ago, Dean and Castiel were out front, having a discussion in front of the Impala (presumably about the car and Castiel's distinct lack of adoration for the old Chevy). Sam had stepped out on to the porch to head to work and stopped when he saw them by the car, waiting because he didn't want to interrupt. Dean and Castiel seemed unaware of him watching. Sam didn't hear the conversation, but he definitely saw Dean's face pull the most petulant, childish, pouty look he'd ever seen on a grown man. It looked pretty ridiculous, even from a distance. Castiel suddenly chuckled, shook his head in fond exasperation, and leaned into Dean's personal space to drop his forehead on to Dean's shoulder. Dean didn't flinch away or tense up; he just stood there and let Castiel fold against him. Dean's immature expression melted away, he rolled his eyes with a ghost of a smile, then he pressed a quick kiss to Castiel's jaw. That was all. Castiel pulled away, the semi-argument apparently resolved, and Dean turned to head back into the house when he looked up and saw Sam. He had to figure he'd seen them. But Dean didn't get flustered or try to make up some lame story about what Sam had witnessed. He just tossed Sam the keys to the Impala and said, "We need to get you your own car. I'm tired of you going off in my baby." And that was pretty much the 'are you two? – yes, we are' about Castiel.

Not that Sam needed anything more than that. Just the soft looks on his brother's face when he looked at the former angel were enough.

"So how's Castiel taking the whole 'demoted to puny human' thing?" Bobby asked.

"Actually… really well. It was pretty rough there in the beginning, but… I think he's finding his niche."

The one carved out at Dean's side.

"That's good… if he's stuck like this, might as well make the best of it."

Sam stopped himself from confirming that Castiel definitely was making the best of his situation. Instead, he just fought a smile and thought of that sweet exchange he witnessed by the car.

"Well," Bobby heaved a sigh, "suppose you two want me to put the word out about all this business about the end of hunting."

"You do know all the people; you're the one with the connections," Sam pointed out.

"Well, I can tell you right now that about half of them will think I'm full of shit. Hell, I think I might think it. I just can't imagine…"

"Yeah… me neither, really. But I _want_to… you have no idea how much, Bobby."

"Actually, figure I do." Bobby paused awkwardly. "I'll see you boys when I see you. Good luck."

Good luck trying to live like a normal human being. Tackling vampires and demons was easy… for a hunter, assimilating into a normal lifestyle was the challenge.

"You too, Bobby. I'm sure we'll see you sooner rather than later. We're not losing touch just because there's no more hunting."

"After all the gray hairs you two have given me, you're obligated to make it up to me… and being strangers wouldn't be the way to go about that."

"You bet, Bobby. Who knows… maybe we can get together during the holidays."

"Oh hell," Bobby groaned, "I'm not ready for that shit yet. I'm just trying to figure out what the hell to do with all the salt I have… supposed I could start a beef jerky business."

Sam laughed. "I'll talk to you later, Bobby." He hung up the phone and looked back out the window. Castiel had taken off his ever-present white jacket, and (for once) he wasn't layered in thermals underneath. All he had on was a plain t-shirt, leaving his arms bare. Somehow, it managed to accentuate his new humanness, seeing the bony jut of elbows and wrists. He was holding his arms out to the sun, turning them over as if he could see the sunlight dancing across his skin. For all Sam knew, Castiel used to see the sunlight dance.

Just then, Zoë came around the corner of the house into the backyard, her arms laden with bags of food from Hildegard's. Dean spotted her before Castiel, preoccupied with watching his skin soak up the sun. Dean waved to her and went to help her carry the food to the patio table. Dean had suggested they eat lunch outside. Sam knew that was for Castiel, who liked the open sky and wind in his hair.

The second he set eyes on Zoë, her blond hair tousled by the wind and decked in jeans with well-worn holes in the knees, Sam felt that flutter-clench-gasp of the unknown. That sense of so many possibilities for them, uncharted places to discover together, with each imagined future more exciting than the last. He was honest when he told Bobby he hadn't felt like this since Jessica. There was just something about everything Zoë was that Sam was drawn to… inexplicably and gloriously. And there was no hiding who and what he was with Zoë.

In short order, the three of them in the backyard were standing around the table, which was situated so that it fell into the shade cast by the house. Castiel made a few comments, about which Dean wasn't too keen, but in the next instant Zoë was putting the food aside on some of the chairs and gesturing for Castiel to help her. Together, they picked up the table and carried it out into the yard, into the sun. Dean stood back and watched a moment, then he plainly sighed and started carrying over the chairs.

It hit Sam that he was looking at his future. Him and Zoë, Dean and Castiel. This was what normal life would hold for them: two former hunters, one possession-victim, and one ex-angel forming a new family all their own. It was the nearest to normal someone like Sam Winchester could ever hope to get.

And it felt so weirdly right that Sam wanted to run down the streets whooping at the top of his lungs.

Castiel and Zoë were clearly pleased with their furniture relocation. They were contently setting out the food in the full brunt of the noon sun. They were talking while they worked, though Sam couldn't hear the conversation. He read expressions mostly, and there was an ease between them that translated in body language.

Zoë got along surprisingly well with Castiel, considering what an odd bird the former angel was. She didn't know that he used to be an angel, but she had to know there was _something_different about him. Maybe it was the prospective counselor in her that didn't care if he was strange or quirky… or maybe it was just Zoë. The fact that Zoë got along with his brother's significant other was just one more reason Sam could come up with to love her.

And he would. Someday. Someday soon. It was just inevitable now… only a question of when. He would love her. And he looked forward to the rush.

And Sam wasn't stupid… he could tell that Dean and Castiel were both making a real effort to welcome Zoë into their warped inner circle. Sam had no idea what higher power he should thank for that (especially considering Dean's initial reluctance to let her anywhere near their world), but it meant a lot to Sam. It made all this seem possible… like it wasn't just a pipe dream or a lie, but real and doable. It made Sam a bit too eager to believe all of it… to believe that he could finally stop fighting, for the first time in his cursed life.

Lost in his thoughts, Sam started with the back door opened and Dean came in, his stride whisper-soft as he strode on bare feet. He caught sight of Sam by the window and stopped. "Hey… talk to Bobby?"

"Yeah… just now. I told him everything. I don't think he believes me."

"Who could blame him?"

Sam put his phone on the counter with a shrug. "I was just coming out, you didn't have to come get me."

"I didn't come to get you. Came in to get Cas some sunscreen. Moron's going to give himself a sunburn."

Sam was thoroughly amused being on the outside looking in, for once, at Dean's mother-hen streak in full-swing. He hoped Castiel didn't mind hovering, because Dean was good at it if you let him.

Which Castiel probably would… and he'd probably enjoy it. They really were perfect for each other, in their twisted, bizarre way.

Sam went out into the backyard while Dean wandered into the house in search of sunscreen. As soon as Zoë spotted him, she grinned and came over to him with a plastic bowl. When she reached him, she curled her free hand around his arm so easily, like it belonged there. "Hey, Sam… hope you have a sweet tooth, because I have fudge brownies." She waved the bowl of brown squares in front of him like an irresistible enticement that no mortal could turn down.

It made Sam think of Jessica and her cookies. He was glad Zoë picked another dessert with which to woo him.

"I've been known to demolish a brownie pan or two in my time," Sam joked. To prove it, Sam snagged a square off the top of the chocolate mountain and shoved half of it in his mouth.

Dean came out at that exact moment with sunscreen in hand. He saw Sam stuffing face and smiled cheekily. "That dessert before dinner thing… learned it from me. Come here, Cas."

Castiel went. Dean poured some sunscreen on his hand and began to lather Cas up. Castiel stood patiently while Dean covered his arms. Then Dean curled his hands around the back of Castiel's neck, successfully getting sun block on the exposed skin, but the functional touch mimicked an intimate one too closely. They both seemed to notice it at the same instant. Dean's hands very nearly stilled, and Castiel's expression softened. Sam suspected if he and Zoë weren't there, they would have started kissing.

Instead, Dean sent Castiel a flicker of a smile that promised 'later' and swiped his sunscreen-coated fingers over Castiel's cheeks and nose, catching all the burn-prone places with a lifetime's worth of experience as a human to guide him.

"There you go… now you can play outside all you want," Dean teased.

"Thank you, Dean."

Dean nodded and turned to go inspect the food choices when Castiel reached out and snagged his arm. Dean drew up short and looked back at Castiel expectantly. Castiel merely held out his hand for the sunscreen. Dean looked amused at the notion that he needed to be looked after the way new-to-the-world Castiel did, but he relented all the same. Castiel inexpertly returned the favor and worked lotion into Dean's exposed skin.

When Castiel was finished, he looked inordinately proud of his work. Dean smirked down at his UV-protected skin and said, "Awesome."

"If you ladies are finished," Zoë quipped, "let's eat."

Dean shot Sam an 'I like this girl' look, and Sam couldn't imagine that day getting any better.

They arranged themselves at the table in a natural configuration that required no discussion. Sam and Zoë on one side of the table, Dean and Castiel on the other; Dean sat across from Sam, and Castiel sat across from Zoë.

Zoë's hand snuck over underneath the table and gave Sam's thigh a squeeze.

Dean gave Castiel the lion's share of the curly fries.

Sam hoped it was the first day of many in their new lives free of hunting. Because Bobby was right… after everything the Winchesters had sacrificed for humanity, they both deserved a happily ever after… albeit Winchester-style.

END


End file.
